


Dragon Haunt

by Leonia42



Series: A Violet in a Snowstorm [6]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Action/Adventure, Backstory, Dravania, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Heavensward, Holy See of Ishgard, La Noscea, M/M, Mystery, Romance, Stormblood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-25 01:49:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14368293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leonia42/pseuds/Leonia42
Summary: Between helping an innocent that would rather try and kill her, getting jumped by heathens with terrible taste in music, and taking an arrow to something other than a knee, it's little wonder that Venice has time to push her favourite knight against a wall and help Estinien deal with his newfound emotional awareness. But she tries. Just another torrid day of adventure for the Warrior of Light.[Takes place after 4.1, contains DRG 60-70 spoilers, Hildibrand HW spoilers, Return to Ivalice spoilers and probably other stuff I forgot about]Author's Note: So I may have accidentally deleted the first draft while backing up, tried reconstructing a lot of this from memory, the first third or so may be clunkier than the rest. Lesson learned.





	Dragon Haunt

“Where the hell did they go? I swear they were right fucking here..or was it under there. Shit, don’t have time for a Twelves’ damned scavenger hunt.”

“Everything going alright in there?” a quiet voice piped up from the other side of the ajar bedroom door. Cyr poked his head in to look at what could possibly disturb his new housemate so much.

“It bloody well is _not_ ,” Venice fired back at him.

She was sitting at the edge of her bed, rifling through various containers and pouches, a large strongbox at the foot of the bed was flung wide open revealing assorted pieces of gear that hadn’t been applied to her glamour collection. On top of the garments rested a handful of old-fashioned prisms that she hadn’t bothered to convert.

“Forgive Your most blessed of champions, my Lady. She means no offense with her ill-conceived words,” the pious Midlander said while bowing his head. He made a ritualistic symbol with his forefingers before he rose to look at Venice’s livid face again.

“I mean _every_ one of them!” Venice persisted, though the interruption had doused some of her fiery spirit.

She moved most of the clutter back to the strongbox but was unable to close it against the bulk of the new additions. Affectionately, she patted the clear spot on the bed, likely the only clear area in the entire room. With a staggering amount of reluctance, Cyr took up her invitation and joined his friend.

“What exactly are you looking for?” he tried in a patient tone, forcing a smile with his thin lips, attempting to calm the belligerent Highlander down.

“Cracked clusters; they’re immensely valuable. Can be turned into any materia, well, any combat-focused type. I’ve been out-growing a lot of gear lately and need to keep up with new pieces to stay competitive alongside other adventurers.

That goblin with the funky name who specialises in transmuting clusters is supposed to be coming to the city today and it would really be _convenient_ if I could trade the blasted things before he f- er, before he departs again. Sorry about the language, I’m trying to do better.”

“They _all_ have funky names..”

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

Cyr sighed, “I don’t mind. The language, that is. What I do mind is that your crystals have been multiplying at an alarming rate. They’re absolutely everywhere. I’m surprised we haven’t become the victims of an accidental summoning by now.”

“That’s not how primal summonings work. So long as your faith remains committed to the Fury and not to some beastkin wannabe god-being, we’re good.”

“What do these things look like, maybe I can help.”

“Kind of like those crystals you are so fond of, actually. Colourless, about palm-sized, irregular shapes like clusters, hence the name,” she tried to demonstrate with her hands what she was describing to him but the vacant look he gave her didn’t fill her with confidence.

“Hm, well, if I chance upon them, I’ll be sure to separate them from the other crystals loafing about.”

“Sorry, Cyr, I’ve been working on all of my crafting disciplines as of late..”

“So I’ve been noticing. Mayhaps you could make some furniture to help confine your uncontrollable habit?” His rhetorical question was dripping with sarcasm, she was so proud of how much he had matured since their first meeting.

Gone was the blind naivety and boyish innocence. Neither had he become overly jaded after his previous experiences with Hildibrand and the rest. Another shining example that people could change their thoughts and beliefs in light of new evidence: Cyr had seen his faith challenged, much like Ysayle and others. He had emerged from the confrontation wiser and better off for the trial, willing to help others through their own similar struggles. Granted, not everyone was capable of such a dramatic transformation, Venice couldn’t let herself think that it would always be so simple.

“Are you mad at me?” She asked in all seriousness.

“No, Venice,” he sighed again, his shoulder slumped, “I like having you around, truly, but some of your habits and tendencies could be more, er, conducive for living with other people. It’s obvious you’re used to being on your own so I’m willing to give you a chance to adjust.”

He was about to say more but a loud banging suddenly echoed from the lounge room, someone was at the front entrance demanding one of their attention. Venice had found the accommodation more than adequate for her needs but Cyr’s own investigative work meant he was often meeting with clients or informants eager to dispense scraps of knowledge with the former inquisitor, often at strange times of the day and almost always without warning. 

At least the unannounced arrivals were decent folk, most were seeking assistance for various reasons. There had been little in the way of unsavoury types which bespoke of Cyr’s positive reputation within the community. If he were doing a poor job, she expected to find people looking for recompense or threatening the young detective. It all gave her something to aspire towards with her own efforts for the Holy See, though she found being so physically far away to be problematic most of the time.

The distance could not be helped and Cyr was a trustworthy ally, something she often found to be in short supply in her life. She waited while he left the room, trying to overhear the exchange with the delivery man outside but their conversation was too brief to garner anything useful. There was still a long way to go to hone her own snooping capabilities, perhaps spending more time in Idyllshire would be necessary after all.

She opened the pouch of soulcrystals and wondered which she would focus on next. The deceptive abilities of the Ninja would be especially useful but she had little patience for careful, stealthy combat. Much like Alphinaud, she found subterfuge too cumbersome to put into regular practice. Dragoon, Paladin, Red Mage, she felt more comfortable with those.

The Dragoon crystal gave her pause, causing her to think about Ser Heustienne who was still hiding out somewhere within the Forelands with her dragonling ally. Surely she would have her new powers under control and be anxious to put them to the test. Maybe she would have to pay her a visit on her next trip through the region.

Carefully, Venice put the job crystals away and resigned to worry about adventuring matters later for there was still plenty of work left to do for the Temple Knights which she had pledged her immediate services to. Combat training was a neverending, ongoing task that could be fine-tuned while achieving other objectives. Sometimes it was nice to have something else to do, like figuring out why the Apothecary had blown up and how the treasure-hunting smugglers had gained access to the once isolated city in the first place. All of the city-states had their problems but only Ishgard had come to accept her as one of their own.

When she entered the lounge room, an unseasonably warm breeze was drifting in through the opened windows, the lacey curtains dancing in its invisible wake. The smell of spring turning into summer wafted around, it was easy to forget that the mountains nearby harboured the Calamity-stricken snow wastes of Coerthas. Cyr was placing a heavily laden vase of tall, colourful flowers upon a small table, their fragrance mingling with the muggy Dravanian mists.

“Got a secret admirer?” she teased, leaning heavily against the doorframe.

“No, but I think you have,” he extended his hand, there was an envelope with a red wax seal upon it. She could not make out the detail from her current location but the intricacy of the design was emblematic of the houses of Ishgard. “I don’t recognise this coat of arms, do you?”

She got closer and grinned when she ran her hand over the seal, “Aye, it’s from House Borel.”

“The lord commander’s house? Why would he be sending you personal gifts?” The look of surprise on his face was priceless, she wished she could have savoured it a bit longer.

“ _Oh, I don’t know_. Maybe because I killed Nidhogg and saved the entire city from certain doom?”

He rolled his eyes slightly, “Well, yes, there is that.” He paused for a moment to try and find the right way to ask what he wished without coming off as prying too much. “I’ve never seen any of these flowers before.”

“I shouldn’t think so, they are all native plants from Ilsabard.”

“How is that even possible?” The Midlander looked utterly dumbfounded, Venice merely shrugged her shoulders in reply. He should have been accustomed to strange happenings while in her presence by that point. “What does the letter say?”

“Um, nothing that I can in good conscious share with your virgin ears,” she felt her cheeks warm as her eyes scanned over the delicate handwriting.

He had certainly put a lot of time into the elaborate language, some of the words were entirely new to her but their meaning was not hard to interpret. Poetry. _Erotic_ poetry. She had heard opera singers back home use expressions such as those, shouting their vocals towards the heavens with gusto and passion, never had she expected to become the recipient of them. A nobleman had actually put his well-educated mind to good use for her sole benefit, she was deeply moved by the gesture.

“What makes you so certain about that?” Cyr protested. He was genuinely hurt by the jest. Venice frowned, she’d have to learn the limits of how much humour he could handle, it was not her intention to insult him. “It’s the hair, isn’t it?”

“Well, I mean, I know it might be fashionable in Ishgard for men to have long, luscious hair  but out here on the fringes of civilisation? You kind of look like a Gridanian hippy,” she said with reserved honesty.

“What’s a hippy?”

“Someone who has strong beliefs but is too lazy to act upon them so they sit around doing things that keep their mind off of whatever they’re complaint is about,” she had to think about it for a moment.

Nearly everyone in Gridania lived a laidback lifestyle like that, communing with nature and each other, waiting for others to solve all the world’s problems. Maybe they could get away with it since the elementals afforded them protection. The forest itself was lush and bountiful, there were very few reasons to worry about the rest of the world. Not until the incident at Baelsar’s Wall, anyway.

But in Cyr’s case, she was teasing him because she knew he would get flustered and say something ridiculous. She couldn’t help it, people needed to be able to laugh at themselves and each other, for life was simply too short for anything else.

“I’m not falling for it this time,” he said pointedly.

“Too bad,” she moved over towards the flowers and had a good, fulfilling smell of her homeland, memories of her childhood bubbled to the top of her consciousness until she willingly pushed them back down again. “Have you ever been in love, Cyr?”

“I..once,” he was disarmed by the question. They sat down together on the lounge, he poking at the beaded rosary which had slipped out of his pocket and she rereading the letter over and over again without meeting his curious glances. “Ser Charibert literally beat the idea out of me, proclaiming it to be lustings of the flesh that would misdirect my focus away from the sacred task of ministering the Fury’s justice. Easy for him to ignore natural urges, he probably knew he would be selected to join the ranks of the Heaven’s Ward, already trying to increase that likelihood by prematurely practicing celibacy. Such a pious, committed man he was.”

“Such an idiot,” Venice bit out. Why did every story involving the Heaven’s Ward manage to send her skin crawling? “Did you ever act on your feelings once he was out of your life?”

“No, how could I? I had been humiliated and later chased out for speaking out against the Inquisition. Mayhaps it will happen again some day, anything is possible.”

“I hope so, Cyr, you’ve a lot to offer,” she smiled and slapped his shoulder playfully, maybe too playfully as he doubled over in pain. He didn’t tell her off, however, just grinned madly. She pointed to the jewelry still clutched in his hand, “I’m surprised you’ve kept that, you’ve gotten rid of everything else connected to your past.”

“Aye, I still have my faith. I will always have that,” his laughter subsided a bit, he handed the rosary over to Venice so she could examine it in detail.

“I assume these are pretty standard, with little deviation in the craftsmanship?” He nodded. “Surprised you’d let a heretic like me rub my filthy heathen hands all over it.”

“That’s not how worship of the Fury works,” he smiled, echoing her correction from earlier.

“Some day I might like to learn more about Halonism,” she said quietly, handing it back to him.

“I’d be happy to go over the basic tenets with you. But for now, I have a case to follow-up on. Take care of yourself, Venice. May the Fury ever keep you safe.”

\---

The rolling foothills of the Hinterlands lay before Venice and her chocobo, Antonius, a verdant well-spring teeming with wildlife, beastkin, and pioneering folks who enjoyed life away from the beaten path. From high in the sky, the Sharlayan buildings looked impeccable, stout against the ever-changing elements. On the surface, they were nothing but crumbling ruins, often exploited for building material rather than the knowledge they once housed.

Nature was an unforgiving mistress, time made fools of every era. To dwell on inevitably would cripple one’s lust for life and if there was anything adventurers had in ample supply, it was their desire to see it all, to find new experiences, to break the boundaries imposed by the institutions that made life so convenient for everyone else. Venice did not crave such contrivances, she wanted to be the first to discover something without a name.

Gloomy clouds threatened to stall her daily routine, no one enjoyed being soaked to the bone on their journey but she was prepared to push through the misery if it came down to it, better to keep moving than wait for a storm to pass. The gale-force winds, however, would not be to Antonius’ liking and an unhappy steed made for an unhappy rider. She loosened the pull on the reigns as she looked for a temporary spot to touch down, maybe she could head off his displeasure with one or two of his favourite roots.

“Kweh! Kweeeh!” he chirped, reading her mind. She patted the base of his neck where the dark bluish purple feathers stuck out under the protective steel barding. He hadn’t complained about the change to more rigid, knight-appropriate armour, she needed him to survive in the thick of battle alongside her as the calvary bos in Ishgard did for their masters.

It was supposed to be a rather ordinary hunt through Dravania searching for and eliminating wanted bounty marks for local beasts which caused problems in one form or another, a good opportunity to appease the likeminded huntsmen in Clan Centurio. While some saw it as sport, others as a means of conservation, Venice was more interested in the steady profit. She could easily see to the bounties while pursuing other goals in the region, just as she could do for the Grand Companies to the south.

But there was an element of enjoyment to keeping her skills sharp in between larger operations either called up by the Scions or her comrades in the Free Company she seemed to have neglected since the end of the military campaign in the East. She’d have to come up with a good excuse for her ongoing absence, maybe she could bribe them all with gifts.

They landed by one of the worn out structures at the edge of the goblin camps, the overgrown roadway leading towards a bulbous building full of lights and strange metal pieces welded into place. Past experience had taught her not to fly over such places unless she wanted to become target practice. Too high would obscure her view, too low would lead to disastrous, likely embarrassing, situations.

Her power had grown with every fierce battle but she was not invulnerable, a stampede of swarming goblins could take their toll.That was exactly the lesson a solitary figure fleeing down an adjacent alleyway was about to learn for himself.

“Kweh?” Antonius tilted his head, knowing Venice’s tendency to help those in trouble a little too well. Not everyone was worth the effort, there were many unscrupulous types that disguised themselves as whimsical adventures to take advantage of such kindnesses. But there was no reason to assume. Besides, the roused goblins would only complicate her search by scaring off the potential target, if it was even in the vicinity to begin with.

“Fine, let’s get to him before he pulls the entire settlement down on us,” she sighed, jerking the reigns in the appropriate direction.

When she rounded the corner, two goblins looked up at her in alarm with their obnoxiously cute face masks. The blue Illuminati crest displayed on their shoulders dispelled any notion that they were citizens of nearby Idyllshire. They turned their muskets promptly on the intruder.

Once dismounted, Venice quickly placed her hand out to cast Protect over Antonius and herself, encasing them in an invisible barrier that likely wouldn’t do anything at all but soften the largest of blows slightly to a survivable potency. The action gave her confidence at any rate, she whipped her staff around in a reverse grip and allowed Antonius to make his first move. The bo leapt with both talons at the nearest goblin while she swept the other off its tottering little feet somehow. She had meant to close the gap more than actually landing the creature on its back.

Two of the their opponent’s comrades came rushing to the commotion, their original quarry having already eluded them. She noted a smattering of glistening spikes on the ground, caltrops, some covered in dark, sickly ichor, the goblins on approach did so with a hobble in their step. Ninja, had to have been.

Venice encircled the unlucky arrivals with Aero III, cutting them down with scathing, umbral winds emitted from her staff. They did not succumb immediately, issuing a few loud bursts of banging bullets their guns which did little to dissuade the experienced White Mage. She pointed the head of her staff at the ground, created a large arc, spun on her heel, landed in a crouch, and let Assize finish off the small group.

“Do you ever wonder how there are any of these scumbags left?” Venice asked her companion, he lifted a solitary wing in a lazy shrug. “Looks like our friend disappeared. Kind of rude not to say thank you. Healers never get any respect. If people didn’t get hurt, they wouldn’t need us. And yet..”

An explosion, more gunfire, boisterous shouting from another roadway which fed into the same encampment from the opposite direction.

“Good thing sharpshooters are on the menu today,” she said, pulling out the bounty leaflet from her pack. “Wipe your talons, would you? They’re so annoying to scrub down.”

In response, Antonius ran off ahead, sure to trip over every loose caltrop along the way, almost deliberately scattering them. “Bird’s got attitude.” Carefully, she tiptoed across the unwarranted obstacles. By the time she reached him again, he had abruptly stopped to observe the scene playing out before them.

The main artery through the camp was congested with numerous angry beastkin, their numbers growing like a jittery nest of spooked spiders. Spiders would have been preferable to a tiny army of gunmen, no matter how adorable their appearance might have been otherwise.

“Fucking fantastic,” Venice declared to no one.

As if that were not enough, Antonius gave a high-pitched squawk to announce their location. She turned to chastise him but found him engaged for a fight of survival against the Ninja.

“Hey arsehole, nobody touches my bird,” Venice jabbed her staff at him, not unlike a dragoon striking with Heavy Thrust. He ducked, back-flipped then bolted straight for the swarm of goblins to conceal his escape. “What the serious fuck. I’m not helping any more strangers. Done with that.” She bent over to check how badly Antonius had been hurt. Aside from some panicked multing, he seemed alright; the Ishgardian barding had done its job. “Maybe you should leave this one to me, Toni. Fly high, maintain your distance.”

“Right,” she rubbed her hands together once he was gone. “Think it’s safe to hide in plain sight? Let’s see how much these guys like being blinded by Holy spam.”

Venice barrelled after the Ninja, not sure what she would do to him if the goblins didn’t tear them both apart first.

Without the Scions or other allies on hand, she was more likely to get in over her head through reckless, short-sighted decisions. Somehow how she would bumble her way through to the other side of conflicts with a heavy helping of luck and her own fearlessness. When she was in a structured group, she would regularly throw caution to the wind to be right in the thick of the action where she was needed most.

Truthfully, while she endeavoured to be a well-rounded combatant, she did not actually look forward to the mayhem of battle, there was no sense of bloodlust or even the inkling of a desire to kill her opponent, whether her own life was on the line or not. There had only been a handful of times when she felt overtly murderous.

For her, adventuring was not about glory, fame, conquest; she just wanted to help others achieve their goals. That said, she was hardly a charitable person that allowed herself to be used as some sort of rug for others to wipe their grungy boots upon. Though she was a healer, she did not possess the quiet, servitude demeanour that was characteristic of her peers.

The goblins chittered in their gibberish language, shaking their small sticks of fiery doom, seemingly encouraging the intruders into a fatal contest against each other, their idea of a good show and an efficient way of disposing of unwanted guests. Their temporary unwillingness to engage did not stop Venice from setting off the first Holy spell once she deemed the throng of bodies had become too claustrophobic.

The large flash of light dazzled and physically stunned the crowd, giving her a brief glimpse of the shadowy man pulling himself towards the other end, flinging silvery shurikens carelessly out ahead as he ducked and weaved. The goblins recovered from their stupor, the darkened face masks protecting them naught, and lashed out in open retaliation, forcing Venice to cast back-to-back Cure spells as she continued the pursuit.

Ever mindful of the limits of her magic, she tried to wait until each last possible moment before chaining the replenishing aether back to its mortal source. Though she would have preferred to rely on Holy alone to thwart the masses, she had chosen preservation over destruction. It would not have been a wise decision to change the committed course mid-battle. Not on her lonesome, anyway.

Clear of the wide streets, the Ninja dove into the nearest shelter: a bustling workshop full of yet more angry beastmen who chased him right back out. Venice was waiting in anticipation with arms wide, ready to tackle him but instead he managed to topple over her, pushing the lightly armoured White Mage to the ground. She could not afford to stall, not with the crowd descending down on their hindered victim. WIth another Holy blast, she got jump to her feet again. The first trickles of a flash storm conspired to keep matters further complicated.

The Ninja was scaling a shoddy-looking crane, trying to get to the roof of another building which rested against a construction site littered with ways for him to scramble up without worrying about being followed. Venice looked down at her high-heeled boots and sighed, it wasn’t going to be a graceful ascent but she would manage.

The rooftop was domed, soaking with rain water and other mixtures running off from its neighbour. The Ninja slipped multiple times, much to Venice’s silent amusement, before leaping towards the friction offered by the timber beams. There were goblin workers on a ledge nearby taking the occasional pot shot at the pair, one was knocked off his perch by Antonius’ daring dive. The other nearly followed but caught his balance in time to see the Ninja landing on his platform, an act which spurned him for the safety of the building’s interior.

Daggers out, panting behind his mask given the plumes of vapour, the man deigned to see how close Venice had gotten. Wishing she had had the foresight to use her own Ninja soulcrystal, she slowly clamoured up the ladders as the storm raged on, the wind piercing into her tunic, the skin on her legs drenched in icy rainwater. The Ninja kept going, up and up until there was nowhere else to go.

While they had laboured through the hard way, the goblins had arrived by going up the ramps within the building, creating a circle around the rooftop entryway. Venice could summon her bo at any moment to leave the man to his fate but she had gone through too much effort to allow beastkin justice to rule the day.

“Why don’t we all go inside and talk this over while the storm passes, eh?” Venice said calmly, showing her empty palms. Purposefully, she strode over to the Ninja’s side, crossed her arms and planted her feet. “Nobody’s been hurt so far, everything going to be chill.”

“I may have stolen these,” the monotone voice admitted, he held out a small leather bag full of round objects with pins in their tops.

“That’s not going to placate their ire,” she said thoughtfully.

“I wasn’t offering to return them,” he said callously.

Without warning, he plucked the objects out and threw the miniature cluster grenades forward, not waiting for them to detonate. He spun around to scale the distance to the next rooftop, Venice narrowly missing his heels as he continued on. He hadn't turned his blades on her thus far, that had to mean something. Antonius returned to give her a boost upwards, remaining briefly at her side until she shooed him away again.

The man scrambled up a tattered rope, the only visible way around the lip of the busted building beneath. It snapped and threatened to plunge him down several stories. Where there should have been a floor laid the hollowed out remains of an eroded ruin, its crumbling pieces falling into a churning torrent.

Deftly, Venice lunged out to grab him by the forearm, he kicked violently to extend his other arm upwards so that she could have a better chance at hauling him out of the predicament. If given the opportunity, she was sure he’d pull her down with him. She could barely make out how far the hole in the ground went down, she didn't need to find out.

“I’ve got you, you son of a bitch,” she shouted over the howling rain storm. “Stop struggling so damn much if you want help.”

“I don’t need your assistance,” he shouted back, swinging his legs together so that he might brace for the sudden drop.

“Fine, have it your way,” she shrugged and let go. _Bet he was expecting an argument._

He screamed out until something knocked the air out of him. Antonius rose from the hole with the Ninja clinging to his saddle. Later, the three of them were sitting around a fire while Venice prepared some local ingredients to throw into a heated copper pot.

“You weren’t really going to let me fall,” the man said quietly, still wearing his mask. His daggers sat in his lap, waiting to be cleaned but otherwise he did not appear malicious.

“No, too easy,” she stirred the pot one more time before preparing a bowl of its contents. She handed it to the mystery man who sniffed at it suspiciously. “Got a name?”

“Zero,” he said simply before sipping at the wooden spoon she had provided along with the bowl. Satisfied that she wasn’t trying to poison him, he tucked into the small meal with the vigour of one who had not eaten properly in quite some time.

“Kind of bleak, isn’t it?”

“Actually, it tastes pretty good.”

“I meant your name. Is that like code for something?”

“It is the one I chose for myself.”

“Ah, respect. I had to change mine once. Venice,” she held out her hand, he stared at it incomprehensibly. “You must be Doman. Or at least, not native to Eorzea. Neither am I, for what it’s worth.”

“Why haven’t you killed me yet?”

“Because I don’t want to?”

“You could have done so many times. You fought valiantly, as one used to fighting does. Judging by your technique, I’d say you have had some ninjutsu training. Odd. You have no master. Perhaps if you had, you would already have defeated me.”

“I didn’t seek you out to cause harm,” she said, surprised by his expectations. What a paranoid man he was. “You looked like you were in trouble.”

“None of your concern.”

“You don’t have a master either but your style is more refined than mine, you’ve been doing this for a long time.”

“This is true, but also none of your business. I am what you might refer to as a soldier of fortune.”

“What the hell is a hired blade doing all the way out here in the middle of nowhere?”

“Waiting for the next assignment.”

She watched him finish the soup and hand it back to her. All of his responses had been dry, he wasn’t accustomed to speaking often or at least being treated as an individual with his own unique opinions. If she was careful, she could figure out whom had hired him.

“Do you always operate alone? Didn’t seem to be working out very well earlier. Maybe you need a companion..”

“No.”

“Not _me_. I have my chocobo. You could get a small, trainable animal to fight beside you and keep you company during the down time. Like a dog. Could give it a sick name like Shadow or Interceptor.”

“Another mouth to feed. Not worth the time.”

She shrugged, “Sure, just an idea.”

“I’m sorry I attacked your bird,” he said eventually. “He seemed like the biggest threat at the time.”

“He’s had worse,” Venice nodded at the slumbering chocobo, free of his barding, curled up with his head in her lap while she gently stroked the purple feathers along his neck.

“You should work on your training more, maybe they’d pay you just as well,” the Ninja offered off-handedly, poking at a piece of leftover meat with his blade.

“They?” she tried to keep her curiosity as casual as possible.

“The Garleans,” he said simply, her stomach lurched at the suggestion.

She knew they had a detachment that specialised in espionage and covert ops, often recruiting disillusioned shinobi and the like to put their unique skills to effective use against their former compatriots, it shouldn’t have come as a grave revelation. But the idea of willingly serving the Empire disgusted her by great measure. That and the confirmation that they were operating in such close proximity to Coerthas made her squirm with discomfort. 

“Why would I want to work with those guys? Aren’t they losing ground in Eorzea and the East?”

“I don’t ask questions.”

“What sort of work have you done for them in the past? Trying to see how dangerous it is, you know, what good is coin if you can’t spend it, right?” she said hastily.

“Assassinations, mostly. Had a target in Ishgard. Ul’dahn merchant. Guess he double crossed someone important. Got a bit messy but it wasn’t too hard to elude the guards.”

“Very interesting. Thanks for your honesty, Zero.”

“Thanks for the grub,” he put the daggers away in their sheaths, stretched, and got to his feet. “Should you have more enquiries, take them up in Idyllshire. Poke around enough and you’ll know who to ask.”

“I’ll do that..” she would have said more but the man disappeared in a puff of smoke. Good old smoke bombs.

Venice couldn’t believe her luck, maybe she shouldn’t entirely give up on helping strangers in need.

\---

She left the cloister of stingy tomestone merchants feeling moderately dejected, there was currency enough burning a hole in her pocket but nothing worthy of her time and effort to spend it upon, well, not according to _her_ idea of value, the merchants had been more than willing to rip her off as was their right. She suspected they were under strict pressure to turn a profit, whether for good or for ill, taking the earnings wrought by hard-working veteran adventurers, all eager to raise a greater fortune for themselves than their comrades, withholding any information that might benefit their continued self-prospects. Capitalism at its finest in the free city of Idyllshire, free of regulation and order, free of corruption and bureaucracy if its creed were believed to the letter.

Truthfully, it was no different than any other city, everyone wanted what was best for them alone. What really set it apart was its close proximity to the frontier, geographically isolated without the infrastructure older towns relied heavily upon. But it was growing, every day there were new, eager faces making their presence known, the goblins ever-welcoming of the races of man and their jingle-shinies, or whatever they called it.

The sun began to peek through the dark clouds at the height of midday, attempting to dry out the slippery bricks which every pathway and building in the old Sharlayan style had been constructed with. She had grown used to watching her step along the smooth material, the city could do with a better drainage system to combat the constant rain storms.

Something caught her attention at the Aetheryte Plaza: a solitary figure who could not have hoped to blend in against the diverse crowds, too tall and regal while the goblin-folk were barely knee height, other denizens clad in natural colours and practical leatherwork compared to a knight flashing his high status to all would look upon him. Nonetheless, nobody seemed that interested in the more outlandish visitor.

She waited while he attuned to the Aetheryte, pondering what what urgent business matter would have brought him thus.

“I know you’re there,” Aymeric mused, not turning around to greet her right away. She approached him, they exchanged polite kisses against one another’s cheeks, a benign gesture to observers but to them it meant a tiny bit more, “I could get used to this lack of attention. How refreshing to not be treated with any special fanfare.”

“They know who you are, they just don’t care,” she laughed.

She looked around, half-expecting one of the other Temple Knight officers to be lurking about. He was completely on his own, also looking around as he took in a new environment for the first time, bewilderment and unadulterated joy displayed across his handsome features. The hand at his side did not grip his sword with apprehension but rather out of casual habit.

Weapons in Idyllshire were commonplace, it was hard for any combat-hardened individual to ignore the fact. Many favoured the “open-carry” mindset since it encouraged everyone to act with honour and integrity.

“ _You_ care, that’s enough for me,” he grinned wide, they hadn’t seen each other for several days despite her return from the Reach weeks prior; their modest reunion caused them to behave with uncharacteristic shyness, each waiting on the other to take the lead.

“What brings you all the way out here?” she asked.

“I was supposed to endure a day off but I knew the Ironworks had been trial running some new shipping routes, or rather fine-tuning them for public use at the behest of the Houses.

Since they were heading out towards Idyllshire before stocking up and continuing on to the Yawn in the Peaks, where I assume Cid and his colleagues are working hard against the enigmatic Omega threat, I asked to join them on their routine journey.

In exchange, I provided them with Cid’s device which was recovered some time ago and had yet to be delivered, thinking that I might bring it to him in person while enjoying what reprieve I have from local matters.

A short jaunt, both for business and for pleasure, nothing more.”

“You really do struggle with relaxing,” she chided him gently while folding her hand into his.

“I don’t get many opportunities to learn how, maybe you’ll have to show me what to do, or not to do,” he replied slyly, keeping his pace from outstretching hers.

“You’re supposed to lazy about when you’re not chained down by obligations,” she attempted to explain to him.

The pair began to wander on a slow sightseeing tour of the city, whatever other business he had sought to complete had been promptly abandoned. She pointed out buildings and people of note as they continued while he soaked it all in.

"However did you manage to procure those flowers?"

"Through the magic of international diplomacy,” he said in mystifying tone, ”Lucia's know-how was particularly invaluable.”

"How is she? Still doting over my brother like a lost puppy?"

"I hope that's all she has been up to,” his smile dropped in favour of a neutral visage, “There have been some rumours lately, nothing substantial but they could become problematic. Since our focus has shifted to the Garleans as our common enemy, some would have us believe that _all_ Garleans are a menace to oppose. Sadly, this logic applies heavily to Lucia.  There is some quiet dissent regarding your motives as well.”

Venice appreciated his honesty but the suggestion stung deeply. What more did she have to do to prove herself to Ishgard? She thought of Lucia fighting in Ala Mhigo, giving her all for the city-state, who would dare think she had ulterior motives.

"Surely you don't question her?"

"I have no reason to do so,” he assured her. “I should point out that Lord Artoirel and I aren't seeing eye-to-eye as of late. He has pushed on with his agenda to abolish the Inqusition against my recommendations. These rumours may be attempts to drive a wedge between them, to make him choose whether to stand by Lucia or denounce her. Either outcome will distract him when he cannot be afforded to do so.”

"Unpleasant politics,” Venice frowned. “I'm not Alphinaud, you know."

"Not even close,” he agreed, laughing softly, “Politics is less about what you know and more about knowing what everyone else knows. Don't worry, I have it in hand for now."

“I ran into your mystery shinobi figure,” she said, her voice low and conspiratorial in tone. They had stopped to looked out over the river carving its path through the sea of trees below. He hesitated, his grip tightened slightly until she continued, “It was a friendly encounter, of a fashion. You’re not going to believe whom he was hired by.”

“The Inquisition?” he whispered in disbelief.

“Try again. The Garlean Empire sent him purposefully after that merchant, who I think is the same one Handeloup and I chanced upon in the markets way back.”

“Not an innocent victim after all, how intriguing. How exactly did you come by this information?” The worried look was back in his eyes, he knew she could handle herself in most situations but he had also warned her how deadly the man in question could be.

Venice beamed, “I save his life and gave him a good feed.”

“You can attract more wyverns with fresh meat than with snares,” he mused with great relief.

They watched the distant waves crashing through the northern sea. Venice knew that somewhere to the northeast lay her homeland. She was glad for the magnitude of distance, there wouldn’t be any pressing need to return unless the Garleans sought retribution for their recent losses. Even then, she might relish the moment of having the entire Eorzean Alliance alongside for her dramatic homecoming.

The wind was picking up again, the clouds darkened once more, a relaxing mountainside afternoon was about to be lost. If often felt like time stood still during their lengthy chats, whether the topics covered were serious or lighthearted. The world didn’t truly stop turning for anybody.

He relaxed his pose, leaning casually with his back to the beautiful view beyond the balcony, watching her for a brief moment to see if there was anything left on her mind. The lure of wanderlust had grabbed him, she wished she could help him feel that at ease all the time.

“There is one more matter I need to go over with you,” he said eventually, the smile faded as if the wind had swept it away.

“You could ask me to do anything and know that my answer is yes,” she assured him, joining where he stood with her focus completely on his dour expression.

“But I would still ask, even with your full confidence,” he pushed the errant strands behind his ears, or at least tried to. “There is an unseemly task that I’ve been avoiding for awhile now, somewhat because it is not especially pressing compared to other work that needs doing but also because of a personal unwillingness to see it done. With everything going on as it has, however, it might be prudent to make sure there are no lingering secrets leftover from the war that might come back to haunt us.

There is a reliquary deep within the Vault that none have had access to save for the archbishops themselves, it was broken into once and looted..”

“By Lucia,” Venice surmised. He nodded.

“Since that occurrence, it has been sealed away with even higher security measures, presumably. Nobody really knows where or how to get into it now but I am certain the clues lie within Thordan’s office. As you can appreciate, I haven’t wanted to return to that room since..well, you saw the Echo, you share my memories of it all.”

She had felt everything as he had, knew how terrified he had been, how his blood had ran cold when Thordan had given him that look of pure apathy and indifference, not remotely understanding the pleas imbedded in his son’s words. He had gone in knowing that to defy the archbishop was to commit treason, but he had to stand up to his father for the sake of Ishgard, for his friends, for what remained of the Scions.

Had Lucia’s subsequent plan failed, all would have been lost, the gamble would have resulted in nothing but pain and death for everyone involved. Despite everything, she wondered how it might have played out if Thordan had not challenged her and Estinien at the Singularity Reactor afterwards, what would he have done if they had brought him back alive to face proper judgement.

_He would have forgiven him. Stripped him of his rank and titles but not his dignity. Mercy for the monster who had been responsible for too many losses._

“You’ve always been at least twice the man he ever was,” she said, touching his arm tentatively. He grabbed her hand hard, intertwining his fingers into hers.

“I know,” he whispered, kissing the back of her hand. She squeezed back but didn’t let go. “I need you to be by my side when I go back there. You have seen much in your travels, if anything looks strange or out of place, I am certain you’ll know what to do.”

“I’m not an expert on dangerous artefacts or the like. One of the other Scions might be better suited…”

“Please, Venice. It has to be you,” he still had that haunted look about him.

“Of course, just tell me when you want to get it over with.”

“I still struggle to comprehend what drove him to such madness. What else could I have done?”

“It’s not up to you to solve everybody’s problems."

“Must I spend the rest of my life undoing all the damage he caused, mending the pain he inflicted?”

“If that is to be your lot in life, then consider it mine as well. You can pick up the pieces, I’ll hold them together.” To emphasise the point, she wrapped her arms around him.

"What would I do without you?"

She leaned her head against his chest while he rubbed her shoulder with a firm hand, his chin resting gently against her forehead. There was pain enough in both their hearts. Should the next world-shattering crisis come along, they would be there to enhance one another’s capacity to see it through. Together they would endure their past failings for the betterment of the realm and for the benefit of their own, often overlooked, well-being. If the world should slow down enough, they could indulge in their mutual need for affection for just a little while longer.

“Do you think I came all this way solely to discuss business? Had that been my intention, we would be back at the gloomy halls of the Congregation,” he said quietly when she relinquished her grasp, his tone gradually warming for her comfort, “Instead, we are here among the vibrant mountain blooms, surrounded by the careening breezes and the stirring sense of carefree adventure. The people of Idyllshire are individuals who do as they deem fit for themselves and there is little crime to show for their lax rules.

I wonder if I am trying too hard sometimes, people should be inspired to do the right thing rather than being told what to do. And look at your successes, now a determined sleuth rooting out evils before they can create broken victims or patterns of unrest, whereas I merely attend to the symptoms as they occur.

When I am around you, it’s like being in another world, I long to be taken under your wing and taught your methods. How romantic your approach seems to be, my own nothing but cold, empty logic. I feel like I’ve lost something important since we were last working closely together.

I’ve lost.. _you_. You are the breath of fresh air that unravels my tightly wound mind, that sets my heart alight whenever I see your face. If I could remain in your company indefinitely, well, it would be lovely but I doubt much else would get done.

Do you have everything you require? If aught is amiss, I can make up the difference either through coin or carefully cultivated favours. I would spare no expense for you, I would do anything you ask of me.”

The subtlety was gone, the game of “will they or won’t they” long passed. She was almost overwhelmed by his open overtures, grateful that he was not afraid to speak his mind but slightly unsure of how speak hers. Though fully clothed, he was naked and vulnerable before her, she would not take advantage without being completely certain that her words were accurate.

Of course she wanted to be around him just as much as he yearned for her, why should she be so shy about it. He was positively glowing in her presence, eager to please, anxious to be pleased in return. And why shouldn’t he be so, the world had not been remotely kind or fair to him. Neither had it been to her.

“We both have work to do, important work that pulls us apart from time to time. Much as I want to give into my personal desires, it is not always practical or convenient to do so,” she said with a heavy sigh, watching his eyes closely as he decided what to say. Blue eyes were infamous for their honesty, he could not have hid anything from her even if he tried. Was she not also as transparent?

“Perhaps we could make more of an effort to see one another on a regular schedule, in the limited free time we each possess. You could come over for dinner on occasion, without any more bloody interruptions taking place,” he reached out tentatively to touch her cheek as he continued, “Or it could be a more laid back affair, so long as you there it hardly matters.

The book you entrusted to me has been wonderful, perhaps we might enjoy it together. I could read passages aloud while you lay upon the lounge after a hard day’s adventuring, or maybe we could be on the floor instead, close to the open flame, bereft of our material constraints, the sensual sound of cellos playing in the background, a spicy brandy close at hand to tantalise..”

She wanted all of those moments and then some, his voice growing lower as each word ran out like thick, smooth honey, she did not mean to silence the sweet sound when she stopped him. Forget words, there was another language she spoke fluently in.

They were near one of the high brick walls which broke up the orchard, no one was around. She thrust out with one arm while lunging for his shoulder with the other, pinning the heavily armoured knight decidedly against the wall; had she been an enemy, he would have been completely disarmed by the sudden flurry of motion.

Before he could determine what was happening, she pushed hard against his body with her full weight, leaning the extra ilms on her toes to smother his wetted lips with her own. It was exactly what he wanted, she knew by the way his arms clamped onto her back, pulling her further upon him.

She felt one of his hands slip beneath the light fabric of her top, firmly pressing with his palm against her spine, the long fingertips pressing gently into her aching skin, mindful to not tear against it with his scaled gauntlets as he had done once by squeezing her bare hand in the past.

Her strong arms kept him entrapped, one knee coming up to hold him in place, he did not protest being captured within the Warrior of Light’s enticing dominion. His hand continued upwards as far as her top would allow, settling upon the mechanism for unhooking her bra, contemplating whether to memorise it for later or give it a solid tug right then and there.

She closed her eyes tight, as her mouth continued to work its wiles, his hands were not those of just any other man; they had been wielders of death, the architects of peace, the bearers of compassion and belief, practitioners of faith and charity. His hand had changed the city-state of Ishgard forevermore, had changed her from a wandering nomad without a cause to something symbolising a proper lady comprised of pomp and purpose.

The clanking sound of steel against stone, muffled by laden wool and gentle linen, the greedy hands of two veteran warriors, defenders of the realm, indulging one another’s most primal urges. The kissing intensified as each tried to overcome the other, broken up only by sharp gasps for the Hinterland’s crisp, cool air.

She moved for his ears, knowing from experience how sensitive they could be, barely running a finger along the bottom edge while her lips kept the rest of him at bay, he pulled back instantly with a lustful moan, half-closed eyes unable to see through the messy strands of hair which she continued to ruffle. Her lips eager to taste something new, she suckled on the lower half of each lobe while holding his chin, angular and smooth, against her own.

Small beads of sweat gathered at his brow, she pondered the feasibility of going one step further, begging to feel the full length of his sword buried within her tight, clinging sheath all the way up to the hilt as he drove in and out, slow at first then faster. But though they both hungered for it, her mind dismissed the idea as illogical given the time of day and the size of her closeted bedroom. It would not do to molest the lord commander of Ishgard in full view of the public eye.

He must have had a similar thought though he would not leave her without a parting pash, a thrustful tongue against the top of her mouth, a gasp down her throat, a ginger nibble against her bottom lip, bright eyes opened at last, full of lustful energy, his hands still cupping her back until she at last pushed away. Before she could be completely devoid of his touch, he rested one hand at the top of her thigh, just where her leg met her hip and squeezed hard with one final sigh.

She wanted him to go further but that had been the knowing ruse of desire he had deliberately left lingering in his wake. They were both panting, almost trying not to catch the other’s eye lest they lapse back into the throes of passion.

“I would be happy to accept your invitation,” she laughed, pushing her hair back out of her face. He gave a devious grin, a new look for him.

“Then I shall make the appropriate arrangements and have a letter sent to you with ample time to prepare,” he said, leaving his expectations of the night unspoken for she knew exactly what two adults in love were bound to do.

\---

Several days passed. Several _dull_ days.

Venice took another sip of the tart blackberry cordial within the wooden goblet, a sneaky shot of rum giving it a much needed lift, not here normal drink of choice. She sat at a small table close to the decorative fireplace, the fanciest bit of decor within the Hard Place's miniscule lounge. She had been there for several bells, pretending to let off steam and seem mildly interested in the spread of local gossip. Since she had rescued the Garlean agent, she had come no closer to finding his contact in Idyllshire.

There were other matters to be on the watch for, such as the new band of treasure-seekers who had attempted to establish a side-hustle involving the exchange of exotic products such as dragon's blood. She hoped to chance upon them naturally so that she could determine how their products were acquired and moved, with any luck she could help figure out how the one group of smugglers had made their way into Ishgard.

The city was so far away and she missed being within its familiar walls a great deal. If she could uncover one or two more cases, she would feel justified in taking a breather, to see what her family was getting up to and to spend some comfortable time with her beloved. Homesickness was becoming a regular, recurring affliction but the letters from home helped keep her informed and connected.

The pub was about as lively as any other watering hole, though it suffered greatly from a diverse drink selection, the selection of food on the menu smaller still. Many suspected the ale was heavily watered down o keep customers engaged longer, to make them pay more than necessary for the only decent alcoholic drop for malms around. They put up with it because they had to. Unfortunately, that meant the turnover of customers was slow as everyone wanted to get their fill.

Her drink had gone warm, she wasn't about to buy another if she could help it. It was intended to be the perfect prop for someone with more coin than sense, the sort of sweet thing favoured by those who could not hold their liquor or their wits in dangerous situations. Nobody paid her any mind, if they knew she was the Warrior of Light it was of no consequence. Blending in was easy, waiting: not so much.

A burly Hyur with highly tanned skin, a scraggly beard, and a mean look in his flighty eyes stamped his way to the bar. The rest of the room gave him a wide berth, keeping their heads down.

"Pint of the good stuff," he asked tersely from the Miqo'te barmaid.

She brought back the usual fare: amber ale crowned with a hefty foam.

"I don't want this crap. How's a man to get hammered on yak's piss? The good stuff, lass. I'll make it worth your while," he placed some beaten up ancient coins on the countertop, spreading them out as if they were pure gold nuggets.

"What am I supposed to do with this rubbish?" she said, her nose wrinkling with derision as she calmly put them back into his outstretched hand.

He scowled, "Where's the stout? Get me the taller guy who was here last time."

She disappeared to the kitchens, an irritated Roegadyn emerged, wiping down a tankard with far too much vigour.

"You still have the stout, yes?" the Hyur's voice lowered, he took out a small object from his coat, covered it in his hand, passed it to the greedy grey-skinned barman and waited with arms crossed, lips pursed.

"Ah, the special brew. Why didn't you say so?"

Venice could not see the object he took and hid beneath the counter, likely slipping quietly into his own pocket, but a beam of light had reflected off of it for a split second so she guessed it had a glass component. The Miqo'te girl returned with another tankard for the shady Hyur, her ears flattening as she shot her co-worker a dirty look. The Roe didn't seem to notice, taking his spoils back with him.

Venice gave the man time to enjoy his beverage before sidling up next to him, ordering a benign ale as she did, the barmaid relieved and grateful for the generous tip she provided.

"What's a strapping lad like you doing in a dirty place like this?" she asked in the sweetest, most dainty voice she could feign.

"Trying to have a solitary drink, if you don't mind."

"Those muscles look tired. And you look extra thirsty.."

"I'm only into petite ladies who know how to keep their mouths shut," he shut her down fast.

"Quite right. Thing is, I'm actually in a bit of a pinch and could really use some help moving a stash of clusters into the city for proper storage and security. I recently bought a place but have no one to help with the heavy lifting."

"What kind of clusters are you talking about?" His bored tone perked up.

"Cracked clusters, the only kind worth anything around here."

"You an adventurer of some kind?" He seemed less than convinced, she'd have to try harder to reel him in.

"More of a businesswoman really. I connect people together, merchants, adventurers, homesteaders, whoever needs goods from far away. Thought this would make a fine place to start fresh.."

"Not interested in your life story, lass. What needs moving and where?"

"I've hidden them away in a ruin nearby. My bos got chased off by wildlife en route and now I've had to slowly bring them in small batches which you might say is unwise because it is both inefficient and likely to draw attention. And you’d be right. Lots of former bandits and the like would love to take advantage. So I'd rather move it all in one go with some trusty folks doing the work for honest coin. You strike me as the sort who recognises a good deal, I'm offering one if you're willing."

He scratched his chin and pondered her request, "Not what I came here to do but my boys could do with some work. Can't let them get too cozy. You're pretty enough if not my type," he laughed shrewdly. She tried to force a maiden's smile, some ladies would take whatever compliment landed in their lap. "How about after sunset we make arrangements?"

"Fantastic, name your price and, in addition, you will have my eternal gratitude."

\---

She waited patiently atop a rocky outlook some distance away from the rendezvous point. There was no plan per se, she thought to lure them out and then discover where they had made camp outside the town's walls. Then she could examine their belongings at her leisure, assuming they didn't immediately return. A handful of men should not pose much of a problem even if they did show up, had she not killed countless primals and other terrifying creatures?

Granted, she should have conferred with Cyr about looking into the dragon's blood peddlers, he might have been a useful companion for a stake-out. At the very least, his jokes would have kept her from being bored to death. Nobody over romanticized the periods of nothingness in the grand mysteries.

A large caravan pulled by two yellow chocobos meandered down the road, she noted how largely unproportional the escort was for a single carriage. As it drew closer, she could spy how stocked up they were: rations, supplies, hunting equipment, all one needed for a long journey. Their preparedness confirmed one theory: they were no-good types looking to rob and make off with her totally fictitious goods for themselves.

The real question was: were they an intermediary faction working for someone else or were they simply greedy, selfish men looking for an easyride to the top. They would find out soon enough about her ruse, she clutched her staff in anticipation and to reassure herself that she'd think of a viable strategy eventually.

Sure enough, there was outrage and panic when they found the lockbox full of useless river stones and empty unaspected crystals, she had thought leaving a single stuffed spriggan on top of the horde would have elicited a chuckle or two but the rambunctious men were having none of it. Four men by the caravan, all Highlanders with axes hefted over their shoulders, the two swordsmen by the chest shaking their heads, a highly decorated woman held the bos' reigns looking utterly underwhelmed. She couldn't have been a fighter like the rest, merely one of their other ill-begotten trophies.

The rustling sound of broken branches and leaves diverted her senses. Local wildlife, nothing to get jumpy about. More crunching. The twang of drawn steel. _Shit_. She turned around in time for the butt of an axe to plough into her shoulder, a gauntlet covered in rusty chains smothered her shout of surprise. The trickling drip of water over wood. Darkness.

When she came to, instinct told her to diagnose her body's condition. Headache like she'd done too many fire whiskey shots, heavily bruised shoulder, skin wasn't cracked or weeping, would probably turn a nice shade of marid grey if it hadn't already. Clothes weren't rendered to tatters and still present unlike that one blackout during her band's anniversary gig, most of her jewelry had been taken. Everything else seemed relatively intact, her cheek was bloody from where she had fallen but she suspected the actual cut was quite shallow. Couldn't see her hands as they had been bound behind her with fishing knots. Same for both legs.

_Well, shit._

The mating call of the birds outside and the smell of fertile land was reminiscent of Vylbrand; the thick, tropical air and the slowly crashing tides solidified her estimation. Her immediate surroundings were both exciting and unsettling: a warehouse full of various body parts, mostly of dragons and other large, majestic beasts like chimeras and hydras, nearly a museum if not for the freshness of the specimens and their accompanying pieces. Finally, she had found something she could share with the Temple Knights, too bad she was fettered down.

She tested the tautness of the ropes, not going to happen. Without her staff, she couldn't even try a clever trick like using Aero to cut the material down to size. Or cast Fire to burn her way out. On the plus side, there was no guard in the vicinity keeping an eye on her, so that gave her room to consider her options. No soulcrystals, no weapons.

The chair she was sitting in was made of wood, old weathered wood. Maybe the rest of the building was similar. They didn't seem like they had to take care of too many prisoners, having lumped her in with the rest of the valuable merchandise. Even if she could find a way to retrieve her gear, she couldn't know how many opponents she would face, or where she'd go if she could somehow get past them. Underestimating their little gang had landed her there in the first place.

"Watchman spotted a ship on the horizon," one of the bandits said on the other side of the thin partition, rifling through a pack.

"Maelstrom?"

"Nay, independent." Clanking weapons, a sense of paranoia in their voices.

"Maybe they're passing through."

"We've got too much to lose this time."

"Anything useful in there?"

"Nah, nothing we can use in a fight. Soulcrystals already bound, same for the rest. This could work," he took something and left, his mate not far behind.

Once the coast was clear, she tested the integrity of the chair. It could be splintered with enough force. The right angle would break off one of the legs, giving her one free limb, not overly helpful but might be a start. In her attempt to do so, she miscalculated how much weight to throw, pushing the chair all the way over with a blistering crash. Well, at least she had a new position to work with.

Another heave of her arms and torso put her on nearly all fours, she mused how it might look should anyone decide to check on her right then. One leg of the chair had sundered in the process, her arms were able to sit in front of her though they were still compressed in a way that made it impossible to untie or grasp anything.

She made her way towards the thin wooden partition at a snail's pace, crawling on her elbows and knees. Another slam with her free leg as a brace and the chair began to tear apart against the helpful corner. Hardly a clean break but the largest obstacle was no longer a deterrent. Though she could not stand, she managed to knock her staff loose from the table in the other room. Unfortunately, her Aero idea wouldn't work without line of sight so she had to use the jagged edge of the broken chair leg to cut her hands free.

While her escape was underway, she heard the men scrambling outside, a horn blew out a warning in a strange key. They didn't seem interested in her belongings any more so she took them, made sure nothing was missing, then froze. The horn. _Hraesvelgr's_ horn.

With all haste, she ran for the exit, stopping only when she heard the shaken cries of the female Hyur from the caravan. She was sitting on a tiny bed in one of the siderooms, shivering with fright, barely clothed.

Venice threw a small pouch of gil at her feet, "Start your life over, love."

The woman looked up at her in shock then grabbed the pouch and ran off. Heavy footfalls were shuffling about on the roof, no time to make sure the damsel would look after herself.

Still without a cohesive plan of action, Venice went for the rungs leading to the roof. She went straight for the man looking over the horn, pounding him in the chest with the head of her staff before throwing a punch at his jaw.

"Hey motherfucker, that doesn't belong to you," she grabbed him by the collar and tackled him to the ground, kneeing him in a rather sensitive area on the way down, "Get your grimy, unclouth hands off it you stinking piece of shit. Oh, and by the way, you were out of tune, filthy savage."

She let him have every bloody blow she could deliver before his mates pulled her off, the horn falling to the tiles, sliding further away. The bloodlust was pumping, she did not know where the rage came from but she would not let it dissipate. She used Holy to get away and scoop up the cherished object of Dravanian antiquity.

The whole camp, if it could be called such, was coming alive. A handful of Warriors taunted their cornered victim, she'd shove those smiles up their unsuspecting arses soon enough.

One Warrior fell face forward, the rest turned to watch. The battered brigand who had taken the horn rose to charge at Venice, not quite as stupid as his mates. She flicked her staff around, casting the water spell Fluid Aura, jetting him off the edge with a shrill shout.

"Shit, I'm surprised that actually worked," she said with mild shock.

She turned to find a new combatant on the field, one keeping his back to her while he extended the distance between himself and the next unlucky Warrior, the colourful tip of his lance painting a blurry image as he transitioned into the appropriate thrust stance.

"Fuck me. How the hell are you?"

"Bloody well now," Estinien said with a smirk. "Thanks for grouping them up so neatly."

"I try my best."

Warriors were traditionally overconfident about their capabilities, very few had ever come face-to-face with the full strength of two Azure Dragoons.

He began his dance of death: whirling, thrusting, evading, lunging, jumping from one opponent to another, his lance piercing indiscriminately, brandishing away any who would interrupt his rhythm.

Plunging true, twisting, backwards leap to pull it free, pointed at the heart of the next. His feet barely touching the ground longer than necessary, floating high, crouching low, one foot in front of the other, back, back, up and forwards. He knew the steps, could do them with his eyes closed, his enemies could only react to where he had been, bumbling into one another.

Venice tried to keep her eyes on him as best she could, his movement too fast to warrant the majority of her attention. He was the deadliest acrobat she had ever seen, even with the heavy armour surrounding his nimble body. An upwards sweep, pivot, a backhanded thrust, two for one. That slowed him a bit as he paused to push the lance free, leaving a clawed boot mark in one man’s chest.

Every move had to be calculated, timing and precision were paramount. A lance was a deadly weapon at a distance. If not already positioned correctly, it was useless in close proximity. He could adapt on the fly but only so much. The battlefield was at his command to control, jumps rendering distance a moot point.

She topped him off with regen spells, casting Aero III to whittle the men down so that his strikes would finish them off in quick bursts, allowing him to keep the momentum flowing without any unnecessary down time. On the opponents out of his reach, she cast Stone IV, tripping them up from a safe distance. His energy was infectious, she even began to enjoy the chaos.

The fight continued on the roof, more opponents seemed to engage to their peril. A Fire IV spell landed on Estinien, forcing him to tumble to the ground to regain his footing. He lept back to Venice’s side seconds later, putting himself between her and the mage.

“Where is it?” he shouted over the madness.

“There, in the watchtower,” the words scarcely out of her mouth, he leapt mightly into the air, issuing his Dragonfire Dive at the top of the structure.

She whistled, how poetic for the Black Mage to succumb to the dragoon’s flames. The tower crumbled into cinders and ash. By the time he returned, it had fallen apart entirely. Still more men were coming in.

They dropped down to the ground to string them out and find a way to halt their advance. Even with their combined prowess, they couldn’t maintain their battle fervour forever.

“Where are they all coming from?” Venice demanded, weariness creeping into her voice.

“Might have a ship moored in the cove nearby,” Estinien surmised between parries.

“That’s not all they have,” Venice pointed above, the palm trees swayed violently as the aether currents were disturbed overhead. “Airships. Well, not quite. Dinky wannabe mana-cutters with some sort of hodgepodge mixture of Garlean fighter components integrated into their hulls. One-seaters. At least six inbound..”

A shattering noise interrupted her assessment, inflamed bark flew up from the nearest tree, smoking as it caught the rest on fire. There had been a sharp buzzing sound just before the impact, likely an ill-destined bullet missing a fleshy mark.

“Keep your eyes where the fighting is,” Estinien snapped at her, he was holding one shoulder while batting away an amateur swordsman with the pointed end of his lance. She rushed over to his side, further encouraging the green smuggler away so that she might see the damage for herself. Predictably, he tried to turn the other way, not wanting to slow his combat momentum.

“Hold still for a moment,” she yelled at him.

“Grazing shot, forget about it,” he said, side-stepping to keep his arm out of her grasp. “It’s fine.” He pulled his hand back so that he could hold the lance in a ready stance should the overly keen lad make another attempt to get too close. The rest of the fighters had dispersed, falling back to give their airborne support room to maneuver The blood trickling down the dark blue pauldron betrayed his words, he looked at his armoured palm with scorn, “Maybe it’s not fine.”

“Find cover, need to get that seen to before the next wave, “ Venice tried to take control of the situation. She hauled him by his uninjured shoulder towards a stack of unused row boats next to the waterline. Despite the intimidating appearance of his spike-laden gear, he wasn’t too difficult for her to move.

“Don’t have time for it. Can’t you just cast Medica or toss some Regen on me?”

“Healing magic won’t undo the damage and you need both arms functionable to move a lance that size. Spells will keep your lifeforce replenished but they won’t mend your bones,” she tried to look at the wound within the shadows of their moderately concealing hiding spot, the waves slowly pushing warm water into their boots.

Luckily it had been a grazing shot, given most of the impact and subsequent explosion had landed elsewhere. But until she could look at the skin properly, she couldn’t know the size or depth of the wound. Either way, it had to be covered and rendered resistant to infection. With all the sand and grit in the air, it wouldn’t take much to turn the tiniest prick of a scratch into something much deadlier. She fumbled through the small kit in her pack for suitable gauze.

“They’ll surround us,” he warned.

“Going as fast as I can, would really help if you’d put your weapon down and let me work,” she began applying ointment and unravelling a tightly wound piece of medical fabric, rewinding it around the hole in his upper arm. It wouldn't keep too much out but it would keep the blood flow under control. She was mindful of maintaining his mobility until a reinforced bandage could be placed directly over the skin itself, there was still more fighting ahead of them, to hinder his arm wouldn’t do them any good.

He relented his defencive posture with a grunt, sitting steadily on his knees while she tied the final layer into place, ”Fucking hate this sand.”

“Right? Let’s finish these guys off and bail, you should still be able to swing in any direction. Take point and I’ll keep you up.”

She had her fair share of cuts and bruises to be aware of, there would be plenty of time to see to herself afterwards.

The airships came equipped with magitek cannons, which seemed to Venice to be a little excessive for two people, neither of which the smugglers could have been anticipating long enough to rally such forces. Though the pilots trained their sights on the sands, sending plumes of sandy grains sky high, blindly scattering the pair, they weren’t precise by any means. Either they could not shoot for shit or they had other targets in mind. She recalled the call out regarding an incoming ship down the waterway, likely the vehicle which had bored Estinien into the fray.

The coarse sand hindered their speed, encumbered their ability to evade the overwhelming firepower, forcing them to move painfully onwards, further up the modest beach to look for another means to fight back, neither of them adequately geared for the situation at hand. To one side they were blocked by the horizon-stretching saltwater of the sea, on the other were sheer cliffs that reached into a lush rainforest, overgrown with all matter of insidious vegetation, a beautiful sight if they weren’t too busy getting shot at.

When the shadow of the first ship was nearly upon them, Estinien took off into the sky with the mighty leap for which his people lauded him. Even without the Eye to draw from, he knew how to soar as no man could, well, except for Venice. If they found a quiet moment, she wouldn’t mind joining the dragoon in his hunt using her own soulcrystal, otherwise it fell to her to keep them both alive.

He was too far off for her spells to reach, surely he would know when to fall back. In the meantime, she had to look for natural cover amongst the rocky tidepools while he engaged his mechanical prey. Occasionally, she could throw out an Aero spell to annoy the pilots to death, hoping it would distract their erratic senses as he drew in close for the next kill; it was better than doing nothing until he touched down again.

Her arm began to tingle then prickle with sharp stabbing pain, she thought nothing of it, assuming it was lingering rope burn from her previous capture. Casually, she removed her jacket, the heat of the afternoon having grown unbearable, surprised to find drops of crimson against the interior of one of the sleeves. Evidently, she had taken some light shrapnel to her non-fighting arm. Back to the medical pack, she’d be no use to Estinien if she kept putting off her own health.

Two giant fireballs blossomed in front of the beset warehouse, setting ablaze the planks of wood which led to the vacant jetty. She tried to spy Estinien or any of the light fighters amongst the billowing smoke but the sudden wind pushed yet more sand into her face. Not wind, the passing shockwave of something hurtling towards the embolden men filtering back out onto the beach.

Estinien landed beside her in less than graceful fashion, oil and dust covering him from head to foot. He buckled over, clutching at his gut, “Son of a bitch.”

Venice helped him remain upright, keeping one arm around his upper back, under his tiring shoulders, “What happened?’

“Things were going swimmingly until the _Misery_ showed up,” he coughed and heaved, she was relieved that he merely strained for breath after inhaling too many engine fumes instead of holding onto another fresh wound.

“We can’t avoid all that noise. This is no longer our fight,” she said with finality.

He nodded in agreement, leaving one arm draped over her shoulder for support. Together they moved further up the narrow beach, away from the escalating firefight. The warm breeze and the rhythmic waves lured them into a sense of calm, the bloodlust receding from their veins with every step.

“Told him to leave it alone but he just couldn’t help himself,” Estinien growled. They watched as the familiar pirate ship pulled into view across the water, a hint of Cerulean gas drifted into the sweet smelling breeze, ruining any allusions to a quiet rest.

“One of yours?”

“Sort of,” he shrugged her arm away. Free of impending combat, he looked over his dirtied armour, swatting away the grime with limited success. Bloodstains clung to every piece, not all of it his.

“We may as well enjoy the spectacle until they’re done,” she said in a mild voice, not altogether annoyed that the smugglers were getting their just desserts.

“Should get a better view up there.”

“Wh-” He cut her off by placing a strong arm around her waist, pushing off the ground with both feet as he carried them both towards the heavens, a straight vertical jump up to the top of the nearest cliffside. She noted humorously how he pointed his lance in the direction he was aiming for, as if that somehow increased the momentum of his flight. They landed abruptly, he crouched over as she tried to get back the breath she had lost.

The jungle was a dense wall, it took them several minutes to find a way to breach through. She wondered briefly why he was leading her away from the battlefield until she heard the rush of moving water, a fresh water stream feeding into the ocean. He cupped his hands within the shallow bed of water and splashed his face a couple of times. She took the lull as an opportunity to sit on a log that stretched over the meager banks, assessing the inventory of her medical pack and ensuring the horn was secured.

When he sat next to her, he didn’t look any cleaner than before. One of his legs was poised, bent and ready to kick off in case trouble demanded instant action. He was always on edge, never quite relaxed. The posture reminded her of another Elezen who didn’t know when to let his hair down.

“Come here, would you?” she urged him closer. Before he could say a word, she applied a freshly dampened rag to his face, rubbing hard at the remnants of battle that marred his pale features.

“Should have expected that,” he pouted slightly.

The reprieve was temporary, she was still no closer to getting a proper look at the various wounds they had both accumulated during their foray. He moved so that he was sitting on the ground beneath her legs, indicating that he welcomed her touch. She obliged him, picking out pieces of wood, clumps of dirt, blood, bits of flesh, and whatever else clung to his silvery white hair. Whenever she pulled too hard, he cried out in exaggeration.

“How did you come to be in this fine mess?” he asked while she continued her grooming efforts, having found her favourite sturdy brush at the bottom of her leather satchel.

“How did _you_?” she insisted, not exactly in a hurry to explain the nuanced details of her own misadventure.

“Been following these guys for weeks now, they have a rather large network. There are pockets of smugglers just like them up and down the coastline, finding a specific band has taken a vast amount of trial and error.”

“And these ones are trading in dragon parts,” she deduced.

“Aye, there are ignorant fools in the Far East that believe in using these parts for medicine or spiritual journeys, what rubbish. Additionally, these groups are fueling a resurgence of heretic activity closer to home, not everyone has decided to move on from the war. And not all heretics are interested in befriending the dragons.”

“Poachers?”

“As much as it pains me to admit their kind exist, aye. I’ve still got a long way to finding the end of the trail.”

With the benefit of a decent vantage point, she poked at his shoulder wound to see how well it was clotting. Erring on the side of caution, she tied another layer of bandage around it, “I’ve been pursuing this band for similar reasons, some of their guys have been trading dragon’s blood in Idyllshire as if it were a regular commodity.”

“There’s an unsettling thought,” he said grimly, picking himself back up.

“We should head back now that everything is quieting down.”

“Thanks, Venice,” he paused, clearly with more questions on his mind. “I’m glad to see you again, regardless of the how of it. We’ve never really had a chance to catch up since our battle with Faunehm.”

“No time like the present,” she smiled, grabbing her things. “I’m not leaving you in this condition so we’re stuck together for awhile yet.”

\---

All that met them back at the compound was death and the burnt out remains of the solitary  building. Estinien was absolutely livid at the sight.

“If he destroyed everything inside, I’ll pummel him!“

They salvaged what they could, a single steel vault housing a damning ledger, which to Venice’s delight contained the name of a certain Lalafell merchant, a couple of unbroken vials, some traces of a letter with a faded seal. They returned to the larger ship once a boat had been sent to retrieve them, meeting with its unabashedly chipper captain.

As Venice was the first to appear on the main deck, Captain Carvallain de Gorgage chose to play up his charm, “The Warrior of Light graces us with her illustrious presence once again, to what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?”

Estinien pushed her aside before she could answer, “What the hell are you playing at? I gave you one simple instruction: don’t interfere. Even your pretty pompous arse could handle that!”

“I was protecting my investment, which falls squarely within the purview of our deal,” the pirate captain waved his hand, “Besides, I’ve taken on an extra passenger _free of charge_ without creating so much as a fuss. Surely that is progress for our relationship? Admit it, you need me.”

“Fancy words don’t make up for the fact that you’re still a dick,” Estinien bit out.

“You’re welcome,” the other Elezen said, unperturbed. “Now I have a ship to run if you don’t mind.”

“He does have a nice arse, got to give him that one..” Venice toyed, watching steadily as the captain sauntered off.

“Perhaps his only saving grace. I can respect a man who makes his own choices and lives with their consequences,” her partner sighed, “But he’s still a gods’ damn pirate at heart.”

“I see none of Aymeric’s charisma has rubbed off on you.”

He chuckled softly to himself, “Come, Venice. Let me show you the only quiet spot in the hold. It’s not much but it’s mine, for now.”

The room was little more than extra storage cupboard with a single bunkbed, smaller than her own back in Idyllshire, marking the heroes of the Dragonsong War as frugal folk. He sat on top of the dresser, throwing his gear into a pile on the floor then began to tug at the bloodied cuirass, having loosened the straps during their short tour of the _Misery’s_ depths. The subtle hum of her engine was the only noise, a relief from the boisterous men that called the selfsame ship their home.

While pulling the cuirass free of his sore shoulder, it had caught hold of his under tunic, showing off a glimpse of his sculpted abdominals. Venice bit her lip involuntarily at the sight, losing track of all the things she had wanted to talk about. He had too many scars for a man of his age.

She crossed the short distance between them, pointing at the tunic, “Off.”

He looked ready to refuse then noticed the blood dripping back down his arm, “Fine, have a damn look.”

She ran her hand over the spots where the Eyes had once been melded to his flesh, the skin slightly dented and darker as if a shadow hung over it, not overtly blemished but not entirely as it once had been. He tensed up under fingers, waiting for her to finally finish redressing his shoulder with a sturdy material from one of the ship’s medkits.

“When’s the last time someone looked you over?” He stirred uncomfortably. “You have to take better care of yourself, especially if you’re going to fly off to brood on your own.”

“I’m not brooding. And as you can see, I’m not entirely alone right now.”

“Oh yes, because your prickly personality is very endearing to these seamen,” she motioned to the bed so that she could do a thorough examination. He continued to do as she instructed without pushing against her. She had saved his soul once, he could not possibly put her through more hardship.

“What is it?” he asked after several quiet seconds. She must have been staring at him.

“Nothing, I’ve forgotten how pretty your eyes are without that ridiculous helmet.”

“Yours are more vibrant than I recall as well. Nurturing, soft. I know you’re a tough fighter but there’s more there than you normally share with the rest of us.”

She was thrown off by his candid observation, she waited for the punchline but there was none. His steely gaze watched her with curiosity, he was no longer a beastial embodiment of vengeance, just another broken man trying to rebuild after all the damage he had caused.

“Perhaps I would share more if others were more willing to look.”

“I see a lot of Ysayle in you.”

“Estinien,” she closed her eyes, “I miss her too. Every single day.”

“Stay with me,” he said gently, a rough hand against the top of her shoulder. “For a little while. Show me how your technique is coming along. It might even be fun.”

\---

So she did and so he was right. He continued his quest to eradicate the various holdouts of poachers and their associated ilk, she backed him up when matters got tense, as they often did whenever Estinien was involved. Much to her relief, their journey kept them in Eorzean waters, more often than not. She could not stomach the idea of travelling by boat across the great blue expanse to the East again.

When she had asked why’d he teamed up with Carvallain, he hadn’t been overly forthcoming; her other questions were often met with stoic silence. Estinien had plenty on his mind but he was not used to sharing. It took her awhile to figure out what was ultimately bothering him: he was still grieving, still coming to terms with the truth.

The same story could be said for everyone in Ishgard though they all walked their individual paths towards salvation. When Venice had slain Nidhogg, she had cleansed their sins, paving a way forward for redemption and recovery. Though free of their ancestors’ mistakes, every single citizen was broken as a result, they had all lost something that could not be regained. Ishgard’s struggle was not hers, she wanted to be there but she could not walk the new steps of faith. Everyone had been given a second chance, Estinien most of all.

While she longed to be in the city, he railed against going back. Too many dark memories, she assumed. The weight of his past regrets had been lifted but something else was trying to take its place. Shame. Survivor’s guilt. But it was more than that, so much more. He had come to respect Ysayle in the end, had carried on her cause as his own. His crusade was personal. No one could bring back the dead. No one could go back and say “thank you”,  “you were right”, “I need you”, “I’m sorry”.

\---

“You’re looking a little green around the ears there.”

“Sea travel doesn't agree with me.”

They were back from one of their usual scouting missions, no worse for the wear, an incoming storm having forced their retreat. Estinien was sitting close to the ground, his head bent over as the ship lurched to and fro. Venice wasn’t particularly enjoying the confines of their room, she could have done with more fresh air circulating about the cabin.

“Why don’t you rest for a bit? We’ve got nothing but time to kill.”

“Would do but only the top bunk is empty and I don’t fancy being so far off the ground for once.”

“Take mine, we can swap.”

“Venice, you can barely move your arm. I’m not going to make you do that.”

It had been a minor sprain, nothing that would slow her down in the field. When on the ship, she tried to refrain from using the muscles until they were fully healed.

“Then what, going to curl up on the ground like a nervous coeurl?”

He would have laughed if he could have trusted his stomach to stay in one place. With a gruff effort, he made his way over to the bed.

“Why don’t you just move over,” he suggested.

“Shouldn’t we at least have dinner first?” she teased.

“Very cute. Now scoot.”

Delicately, he helped lift her over, making sure she wouldn’t have to lean on the bad arm. They had fought shoulder to shoulder countless times, touching between them had become commonplace. Intimate on occasion but always strictly platonic.

“A bit of a tight fit, isn’t it?” she complained as he found the right position to make use of the small space.

“That’s what he said?”

“Alright, just..try not to move so much.”

“No funny business. We’re two mature adults, don’t make this weird.” he warned her, mildly too late given how her chest was already lazily brushing against his.

“No funny business? A hot Elezen wants to cuddle but I can’t do anything back?”

“Good night, I know you’ll find a way to suffer through it,” he closed his eyes and that was that. He drifted off first, leaving her immersed in his musky scent: dried pine resin, spiced apple cider, a crisp sharpness coated with the tanginess of recently cured leather. Coerthas.

“Stupid ice-witch..don’t go. Don’t leave me..” his murmuring awoke her. His dark eyes snapped open, looking straight into hers, “Venice.”

He roughly pushed his lips against hers, his calloused fingers curling around her ear. She didn’t know how to react, a line had been crossed but curiosity stalled her decision-making ability. Clearly he had been dreaming about Ysayle, why had he said her name? A thrust of forceful tongue, sloppy, moist, hungry, without any purpose or sense of direction. When he felt no resistance, he relented as if it had never happened at all, drifting off to sleep once again.

She touched her chin, the tickle of his stumble had left an impression. The moment had last only a heart-beat. His motions were fervent, strange, as if he had been crying out for help rather than fulfilling a lustful desire. Had he actually been longing for Ysayle in a more romantic sense, a lost flame that had slipped through his fingers? She doubted he would have been physically attracted, he hadn’t show any interest in women before. Softly she touched her lips again, feeling the left over moisture. What the hell had just happened?

\---

He tossed an orange at her the next morning, the storm had passed and his mood was incredibly upbeat. Breakfast consisted of coffee, a sort of bread with bits of fruit in it and the constant tartness of a delicious La Noscean orange. She tried to keep her eyes on the food rather than his twinkling eyes. One of them had slept rather well.

“I remember what I did last night. It was conscious. You are a friend, one of the very few who gets what I’ve gone through. That’s all it was, a thank you. Nothing more,” he said suddenly, not wanting to leave things unsaid or uncomfortable for the rest of the day.

She nodded, she didn’t think he had meant more but it was still nice to hear the clarification, “Beneath that thick layer of badassery lies a beating heart. Deep down, you’re just a big softy looking for the same thing as everyone else.”

He said nothing, smiling coyly, potentially embarrassed.

“Did you love her?” she asked, more seriously.

“I don’t think I’ll ever know,” his tone flat.

“Been there, done that,” she said quietly, trying not to let her thoughts focus on Haurchefant’s final smile.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think.. I’m not very good at this mushy lovey-dovey bullshit.”

“ _Feelings_ , Estinien. That’s what they’re called. Perfectly natural.”

“Whatever. Can’t throw my lance into that.”

“You’ll get the hang of it with more practice,” she squeezed his knee then replenished his outstretched cup with more of the dark brew.

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t need that kind of weakness tying me down,” a large sip, his face contorted with emotions he could not name.

Venice was still learning exactly how complicated love could be. Everyone did it differently but they all needed it. There were different ways of expression, different types of relationships, different boundaries to be conscious of. But as far as she could tell, the act of loving someone was not in of itself harmful and indeed was quite the opposite. Only when someone did not receive their fair share was there likely to be a problem.

When he put the cup down, she got up to hug him. Estinien protested fiercely until she punched his recently healed shoulder, “Fuck, Venice.”

She went back to folding her arms around him, despite his vocal and physical struggles against, “ _You are loved_. Not in a ‘I want to fuck your brains out’ kind of way, but more in a purely ‘we could fuck as friends if you ever wanted to’ kind of way. I get it, being on your own keeps things simple, keeps you in control of your own destiny. Don’t forget that there are those of us who would save you again if needed. You are not a burden. You can be an arse sometimes, sure, but that’s just who you are. It’s fine, you’re doing fine. Ysayle would either be proud of you or she’d be yelling at you to do what’s right. No more revenge. Just love. All of it. Whether you want it or not.”

“I don’t know what to say,” he said once the fight had left him. “Thank you, for putting up with me.”

“Let’s get back to our hunt, enough pouring our hearts out for now.”

\----

Nothing had changed between them. If anything, they had managed to push through a hidden barrier, able to converse more openly than ever. Without Alphinaud in tow, they could freely explore more grown up topics. The only person truly missing from their little adventure was Ysayle.

The trail was getting warm and not just because it led them to the southern tip of Dravania; their quarry was alerting the rest to their hunt, the wary were pulling out of the trade before their number was up. That left the dragoons with the thick headed zealot types that resorted to using the dragon’s blood to transform themselves, easy enough to deal with if a bit wasteful of potential evidence.

After much convincing, Venice persuaded Estinien to go with her to Anyx Trine to meet with Hesteuinne, whom she was long overdue for visiting. He was hesitant to see one of his old rivals from the Order of the Dragoons again but had a swift change of heart when she regaled him with the Hesteuinne’s tale of misfortune at the hands of the cultists. If anyone knew what it was like to be possessed by a dragon, it was definitely Estinien. She thought it might a healthy experience for both of the dragoons.

The two of them wandered on their own for a time, leaving Venice alone to satiate Vidofnir’s inquisitive nature. The elder dragon gave her the latest gossip about who was courting who, who was about to lay eggs and where, how Hraesvelgr’s brood had welcomed Faunehm back with open wings, everything anyone ever wanted to know (and maybe some they did not) of current dragon events. By the time Estinien returned, the sun was setting and it was time to head back to camp.

Their topics varied greatly over dinner, Venice trying in vain to replicate the dish Ysayle had made for them during their long treks up Sohm Al. She mentioned how she had seen Estinien’s flowers in Azys Lla which led to a general discussion over the implausibility of the _Gration_ chasing them through the barrier; Ysayle’s sacrifice need not have been made. As far as he was aware, the Garlean Emperor was still trapped there though they both knew it was a temporary setback at best.

She continued to explain how the war in Ala Mhigo had instilled a strong anti-Garlean sentiment in Ishgard and how it made her feel out of place, momentarily forgetting that Estinien had not been made aware of her Garlean origins. They both thought it was silly for anyone to think Lucia was biding her time, why win two wars for a nation only to betray them later.

The more she talked about Ishgard, the more he seemed enthralled, maybe he had been away too long. Initially, she suspected he needed time to clear his head, to reset and adjust, but she wondered if he was partially punishing himself for nearly bringing ruin to the city, his self-imposed exile a form of penance. She pointed out how well Hesteuinne was doing. Though her condition had not been identical to his own, she was a living example that mistakes borne of failure could be overcome. Eventually, he agreed to go back with Venice when his business was concluded.

Estinien yawned and stretched, laying down next to the fire and gazing up at the stars, “Tell me a story, Venice. Tell me about your homeland, your family, what it was like.”

“Most of it is quite boring, I left home when I was still a kid,” she said thoughtfully, running her hand through his silken hair, playfully looping it into plates, “Well, alright. I can tell you one of the many stories I have about my band.”

“Were you the singer?” he laughed as if it were an absurd notion.

“Sometimes back up vocals, mostly I played the Aetherbass, it’s..kind of like a lute but not at all like a lute. More flat, the strings are connected to aspect crystals that resonate with electricity and produce this awesome shredding noise, you’d love it. Can’t find one of those in Eorzea, not really feasible to make one either though I’d like to give it a go some day.

Anyway, let’s not pussyfoot about here: we were anarchists. We thought government was the worse invention mankind had ever come up. Sometimes I still think that, but that’s neither here nor there. So a lot of our music was designed to rile people up, get them angry and invested in all the stupid shit going on around them, wake them up to the chains that held them, you know?

We were always making a mess, thought we were really important when it turns out no one gave a shit. Most people just wanted to get their anger out, not do anything meaningful. But damn did we do some crazy stuff, like this one time..worth mentioning here that Emperor Solus was a different beast from Varis, well still an arsehole, but a classier arsehole?

There was this opera right, fancy pants singers that speak in some foreign tongue with gaudy outfits, you’d hate it. The costumes were key. We were going to repurpose their use, _alright_ , we were going to kidnap the dancers and sneak in with the costumes, terrible idea but we got pretty damn close to pulling off.

Once on stage, we’d play one of our inflammatory numbers as long as we could get away with. Or just make a lot of rude gestures, whichever seemed more plausible. This was a packed house, lots of dignitaries, magistrates, the lot. Fuck, I wanted to see the Emperor’s face so bad. I was so ready to show him what I really thought.

Unfortunately, he never showed up. Another protest group delayed him from coming, I don’t even know what they were going on about. Typical Garlean bullshit, unless people were giving or taking orders, they didn’t know what the fuck to do. Couldn’t come up with an idea as simple as unity. Every loudmouth wanted their spotlight. That’s why our efforts never got any where, people were too stupid for their own good.

I don’t miss it at all. The band..sometimes, they were cool when they weren’t trying to kill each other but they’re all gone now.”

“Sounds like a louder version of home during the war,” Estinien mused.

“Aye, you can bet I saw Thordan for what he was, another fucking Emperor trying to control everyone. Felt really satisfying to finish him off.”

“That it did, my friend. That it did. We are all better off now, plenty left to fix without that nonsense.”

“All this talking is making me thirsty,” she said with a yawn, dissatisfied with her attempts to pretty up Estinien’s hair.

“You and me both.”

“How about a contest when we get home? Two Crimson Dragoons going head to head to see who can drink the most.”

“You’re fucking _on_. Prepare to tank the floor.”

“One of us will be at any rate. Don’t underestimate me, Estinien. I’ve been practicing all my life for the ultimate challenge. I was literally born for this.”

“Finally, a worthy contest to test my mettle. Dragon-slaying’s got nothing on my ability to slake my thirst. Glory will be mine.”

\---

Several days later, a full complement of Azure Dragoons took to the Vault on a secretive mission.

The archbishop’s chamber was glistening with luxurious pieces of art and history, opulence beyond what should have been reasonable.

“I’d forgotten how ridiculous this room was. One would expect the leader of a church to be more...humble,” Venice frowned, snippets of her icy meeting with the archbishop back before they all knew what he was capable of flashed to the fore of her mind; the red flags of hindsight.

She never did figure out what purpose the revelation about the Ascians had served, had he been trying to sideline her? At the time, the Scions didn’t exist, she was hardly in a position to deal with the threat single-handedly. Just what sort of long game had he been playing at?  She took another gander at the cavernous room, it certainly evoked the classic image of an evil villain’s private lair, shivers ran down her spine as she contemplated what sort of wicked schemes had been hatched within those gilded walls.

“For centuries, the archbishops ruled as kings. They acted the part and looked it wherever they saw fit for no one would oppose them,”  Aymeric explained coolly, he didn’t look particularly thrilled to be there either.

“What a bunch of bullshit,” Venice declared, her hands on her hips.

“She definitely gets it,” Estinien agreed.

“Of course she does. As an outsider, she has not been blinded by the same lies we once were.” His tone shifted as he stood before his friends, fixing them both with a hard stare. “As you know, I loathe being here any longer than necessary..”

“Probably because you were conceived here,” Estinien interrupted with a chuckle, Venice tired to hide her own humour with a look of faux seriousness which only made the pair of them stifle more bouts of laughter.

“Thanks for that cheerful image. May I continue now? Good. So while I would like to keep our time here brief, I do not wish to cut any corners. But before we get to all that,” this time he reached out to both of them, grabbing a wrist in each hand, the serious expression he gave them shut down any further attempts to make light of the situation. “I need you two to make a promise. While it is common knowledge now that I am Thordan’s son, it does not by extension also make me King Thordan’s heir. Many would like me to be as such, to sit on that empty throne, to fill some deluded prophecy that Haldrath would never have condoned. That is not what I want, that is not what Ishgard needs. Please swear to me that you’ll never let me become what I am not.”

“Better hope they don’t try to put a crown on your head. Mind you, you’d look good in one. But let us not forget that I have a reputation for toppling dictators,” Venice pointed out.

“Aye, don’t worry. I’d never let your head get bigger than the rest of you,” Estinien added helpfully.

“If you two aren’t going to take this seriously then forget I said anything,” he said with a heavy, disappointed sigh. “You’ve been practically insufferable together since we arrived.”

“I will always be here when you _really_ have need of me,” Estinien said, the smile gone from his face. He returned the gesture with a stern handshake.

“Likewise. Us Azure Dragoons have to stick together, right?” Venice did the same, sealing the pact amongst the three of them.

“Thank you, you are my truest friends.”

With the somber oath taking out of the way, Venice began to drift off on her lonesome, examining each relic of Ishgardian history with scepticism and wonder.

\---

“I know it’s your natural tendency  to do everything in the opposite manner from your father but you cannot go soft on our people. Even after all their hardships. Going from one extreme to another won’t do anyone any favours in the end,” Estinien warned his friend.

“When I need to solicit diplomatic advice, you’ll forgive me if I don’t ask the man who was arrogant enough to believe he could control the power of _both_ Eyes and in so doing nearly destroyed us all.”

Estinien was about to retort when Venice let out an excited noise from across the room.

“Did that do anything?”

“Did _what_ do anything?”

“I found this sort of switch behind one of the knight statues, the sword is actually a lever. It doesn’t seem to have worked. Damn, thought it would open a bookcase or something.”

Estinien took the interruption as an opportunity to peruse on his own. The three of them split up to scour every nook and cranny for any signs of mischief.

\---

“How about now?” Venice called from the top of the dais.

“Nothing yet, what about…” Aymeric called back and froze, looking up at her just as something had gone horribly wrong. The steel tip of an arrowhead protruded from her chest and everything seemed to stop. “Venice!”

“Oh no, not my favourite tunic,” she said, pulling her hand away from the new hole within her, blood dripping.

Gravity took control, she felt the ground shift below her. Before her knees buckled and she fell upon them, a shimmering light surrounded her, making the aether leaking from her wound tingle in a funny way. It was not the sensation of white, restorative magic, rather it was divine in nature. Clemency, Aymeric had managed to cast it on her just as the edges of her vision began to blur.

 _How thoughtful_ , she mused, though she knew it wouldn’t reverse the damage done, it was a nice thought anyway. The impact suffered by her knee caps against the stone floor jolted her momentarily awake. Some rational part of her mind tried to decide which way she could safely fall but that choice was made for her. A strong arm held her aloft.

“Stay with me,” his voice sounded faint and far away. “ _Fury have mercy_. Please, with whatever strength you have left, you must stay awake Venice. Do you hear me? The darkness will tempt you but you must not give into it.”

Venice heard a loud thud and the whimper of somebody else experiencing grievous harm, part of her revelled in the other person’s misery. The sound of metal, a lance in a body, falling sideways in the distance.

“Got you, you bastard,” Estinien celebrated. “No offense,” he amended before retrieving his weapon from his target. Aymeric was not amused by his dry humour.

“Eyes on me, Venice,” he tried in earnest to keep her awake.

“How bad is it?” Estinien asked when he returned, kneeling beside the pair.

“What do you think, it’s gone all the way through.”

“We’re going to have to take it out,” Estinien said quietly, trying not to cause Venice further distress at the suggestion.

“I know, but what then?”

“We’ll work something out. She didn’t give up on me, I’m not about to give up on her,” he got back to his feet and examined the entry wound, “Still in one piece.”

“Straight and true,” Aymeric said knowingly.

“Straight and true,” Estinien repeated, then with one mighty pull he took the arrow out as easily as if it were his own lance.

Venice knew it was coming and still the pain overwhelmed her. She cried out and tears poured down her cheeks, the sound echoing loudly throughout the chamber.

\---

“Pray forgive us,” Aymeric said softly, trying to soothe her. He held onto her while her body shook with the trauma. It was a terrible thing to hold someone so dear while they writhed in agony, powerless to stop the suffering. Eventually Venice quieted down but there was a new problem.

“If we stay here, she’ll bleed out. How bad is the other side looking?”

“She’s bleeding profusely, we need to get her to a healer.”

“She _is_ our healer!”

“Alright, alright. Keep your cloak on. First we have to dress the wound,” Estinien looked about the mostly empty room for anything useful then he pointed to Aymeric’s chest, “What about that?”

Aymeric looked down at his rank sash, the sky blue fabric worn by all lord commanders, “It will have to do. Can you hold her and keep some pressure on her chest?”

“Aye, can handle that much,” the two men traded places while doing the best with what was available. Venice remained quiet, having to be constantly prodded back to a conscious state.

“What’s..” Venice tried to speak but her lungs were on fire and the words would not form.

“Save your strength. Focus on breathing right now. The arrow missed your heart, thank the Fury for that much.”

“Yeah, it’s really not fun getting shot at is it?” Estinien chimed in.

“It only happened once, _let it go_ ,” Aymeric said with great exasperation.

“It feels both hot and cold at the same time, like.. Liquid ice..” she wasn’t making any sense but her body could barely keep it together with the festering wound and the encroaching fever and the amplified noise in the echoing chamber. She shook again, her temperature changing radically from one extreme to another.

“Save your strength, Venice,” Estinien reminded her sternly. “These symptoms don’t bode well. Check the body will you, see if they applied anything to the arrow tip.

Aymeric held up a small flask, little bigger than a finger from end-to-end, the contents a murky, dark green with a layer of cloud-like froth intermingled with the rest of the mixture. It certainly looked like poison. While he was there, he confirmed one of his other suspicions: the arrows were the same stock quality as the one he had seen before, piercing heads meant for combat rather than hunting.

“There’s a couple of these, one was empty,” he explained hurriedly, rejoining the other two.

“Shit, that’s a paralysing agent from Othard, the Xaela use it against large game,” the dragoon said frantically, Venice shifted violently again in his arms. “And let me guess, there’s no antidote to be had?”

“I don’t think so. How deadly is it?” he asked, checking the makeshift tourniquet they had fashioned over her chest. The blood was still seeping through albeit more slowly for the pressure which had been applied in the dressing. Sweat gathered at the edges of her face, she gasped for air every couple of minutes but otherwise remained motionless, nearly lifeless while they deliberated what to do next.

“For a wild beast? Not deadly at all but it could last several days depending on the dosage used. I’ve not seen it used on an actual person though I suspect it might be applied in combat during all those inter-tribe conflicts that go on there..”

“Spare me the details. What can we do for her _now_?”

“Get her stabilised at the infirmary. With time, I can recover an antidote and bring it back if no other solution can be found. But we must move quickly, she already can’t move her limbs.”

“I’ll take her..”

“I can move faster, don’t even try to argue.”

Aymeric sighed heavily, trying to project outward calm but not wanting to leave her side for a single moment. He draped his cloak over her shivering form, tucking it snuggly around her, then leaned down to kiss her forehead, noting how cold and peaky her skin had become, ”Estinien will keep you safe, my love. In the meantime, I will remain here to find whatever was so important to this dastardly villain. May the Fury watch over you both.”

Estinien rose slowly, shifting Venice’s weight carefully as he did so. He gave his friend a solid nod in lieu of a salute.

“We have the best healers in all the land, everything will be fine. You’ll see.”

“I know you’ll take good care of her,” he watched helplessly as they turned to leave.

“When this is over.. Going to drink you..under table,” Venice managed to challenge him between coughs.

“I’m very much looking forward to it,” Estinien said with a hearty laugh.

They had been through worse situations before, there was no reason to believe that a measly arrow could bring down the Warrior of Light once and for all.

\---

The first night in the infirmary was especially harrowing, Venice's condition teetered on the brink more times than once, oscillating between stable and critical without much warning. The chirurgeons were equally frustrated by the presence of the debilitating poison and the rapid rate at which infection had taken hold. Not only did the blood pour outwards, it also soaked the lower organs which had been vitally thrust upon when the arrow pierced her lower back. Every time they cleansed the wound, they risked making matters worse. It had to be done.

She was as mortal as anyone else, her compromised state seemed nearly impossible but there she lay, labouring for every breath, unable to feel anything from the neck down, utterly at the mercy of the medical practitioners who were giving their all. They were under immense strain to rescue their hero, the White Mage who could not save herself. It was frustrating to realise how narrowly she had survived each of the legendary feats that had made her famous, every blow could have been her last.

Estinien's restlessness bordered on outright anger, infuriated that there was nothing that they could do while Venice struggled with her own personal battle. The best they could offer were words of comfort, the occasional cup of water or extra blanket, and countless prayers. The healers grew agitated, nearly hostile, for their constant presence, leading Aymeric to resort to pulling rank to drown out their protests.

 _Nobody_ save the Fury Herself could separate the three Azure Dragoons while one of their number's life hung in the balance. If she did take a turn for the worse, they _would_ be there for her final moments.

Their stubborness did not outstretch their anxiousness, Estinien in particular could not cope. Though he wanted to provide reassurances, he could not find the right words, frustrating himself even further with his inability to express empathy to his overly distressed friend. Aymeric had his own struggles to contend with, trying to push back the warm memories of Idyllshire lest they become last memories.

He sat on edge, jittery with mental exhaustion, the cloak hanging drearily against the back of the lone chair in the room, thick streaks of Venice's blood smeared against the Orthodox blue fabric. He tried to keep his attention on her but too many thoughts threatened to drown her out. Naturally, he blamed himself for everything that had happened, Estinien could not convince him otherwise though he appreciated his efforts all the same.

It felt like the longest day of his life: the constant revolving cycle of nurses, reapplied dressings, excruciating coughing fits, more dark splatters of blood and fluid, the tears of pain and the stifled cries, all from a single puncture which had driven perilously through her lung. Estinien watched on in horror as he saw from the otherside the suffering he had put others through when it had been him who lay in Venice's place. He did not think he'd have to go through that experience again so soon after the last.

Aymeric did what little he could, retying her hair back so it would not slip into her face, squeezing a hand that could not squeeze back, yelling at anyone who was too slow to tend to her every need. Estinien's face was a mask but his posture spoke volumes. On and on it went into the next day, the pair of them taking turns as to who would stay awake and watch over their ailing friend throughout the early bells.

At one point, he opened his eyes after catching a glimpse of sleep to find Estinien on the floor next to him, his head resting against his knee as fatigue jerked him awkwardly towards the floor. One hand locked onto Venice's outstretch, the other held Estinien's chest so he would not topple over. It wasn’t the finest moment for the three friends but if he had to be the pillar of strength on which the other two relied, he was more than willing to sustain them.

He continued his silent prayers to the Fury, Venice and Estinien soundly asleep on either side. They would pull through. They had to. He would not allow her to perish on his watch, certainly not under such dubious circumstances.

Estinien awoke long enough to reposition, pulling himself up so that his head rested in his lap, making it slightly easier to see how Venice was going. But, more importantly, reminding Aymeric that he was not facing the struggle alone.

His most trusted friends, the two people he loved about all others.

\---

On the following day, one of the remedies was beginning to work. Venice could feel her fingertips and toes but was still unable to grasp anything with her full strength, the tiniest things were far beyond her own ability. They slowly moved her whenever she asked. He waited patiently to feel her fingers pressing back against his own.

The worst of the ordeal was over, she could breathe without too much assistance and the bloodied dressings were no longer in dire need of much changing.

She lay on her side with Estinien sitting on the edge of the bed close to her legs. Her green eyes were so full of of life. Aside from the lingering paralysis and the staggering pain, she seemed rather cheerful for their company. The two of them continued their game of one-upmanship which they had started before entering the Vault; it was a vulgar, adolescent game meant to chide one another to see who could tolerate the most.

He took it as an optimistic sign that she was feeling so playful, refreshing to see Estinien in such high spirits as well. From what he could gather, the two of them had grown incredibly close since the war, he was glad for their mutual happiness. They encouraged him to participate but he was more interested in observing their laughter, Venice occasionally straining too much and requiring some help to manage the ensuing damage.

Though there was plenty of choice swearing and dark jibes, she made no complaints. In general, Venice did not allow herself to be brought down by the current state of affairs. He loved that about her, eager to help others, didn't want to be a burden to anyone else, always looking for something to laugh at, a boundless sense of optimism. Like Haurchefant.

He explained what happened after they had left, how Venice had accidentally unlocked a hidden passage behind a large painting of the High House founders; she was sorely disappointed for having missed the revelation. Best he could tell, the group of would-be thieves had been following them all along, waiting for an entryway to grant them access to the reliquary. Who they were or how they had known to be at the Vault that day was still unknown, worryingly so. He had deliberately tried to keep their investigation quiet by limiting the knowledge of its existence to those involved.

Questions for another time, they were more impressed by his descriptions of the skirmish with the Domans within the narrow confines of the reliquary itself. Two assailants, one Midlander, the other Xaela, one had a mechanised handheld bow which Venice called a "crossbow", the other fought with two short curved blades. The reliquary was littered with strange treasures that needed to be catalogued, he would have a proper team headed by Lucia to see to it next time.

With a heavy heart, he foolishly accepted that his original, secretive approach had led down a near fatal path for Venice. Protocols existed for a reason and he had knowingly subverted them. Like Estinien, she tried to not let him take full responsibility, holding none of the outcome against his judgement. He couldn't help it, once more a poor decision had resulted in grievous harm to one he held dear.

At the end of the encounter, he had retrieved a small box which the one of the Domans had taken during their desperate attempt to flee his vengeful blade. By the time that part of the narrative had been reached, Venice had collapsed again with exhaustion. He could tell her more later knowing that her condition was not going to deteriorate any further.

He patted her hand once more, ensured the blanket covered her properly, then got up to stretch. Estinien looked on silently with an overly thoughtful expression on his face.

“She saved me once, now it’s my turn to return the favour. I would do anything for her but that doesn’t mean I have to be madly in love to do so.” Something else lurked beneath the surface of his words.

"Thank you for being here, you've been an enormous help," Aymeric said, avoiding his unspoken accusation.

Estinien had returned with a spring in his step, likely Venice's doing. While she slept, his joy had turned to sadness. What had the two of them spoken about?

"This is but a scratch to her. I've barely done anything yet." He was anxious to get the true medicine she needed, seeing no value in delaying any longer.

“Since you are here and Venice is indisposed, I do have something that requires discretion,” he returned the strange box to its bag and brought forth a covered scroll, a missive he had written days prior.

"Shouldn't that have a Temple Knight seal?" Estinien frowned.

" _Discretion_ , Estinien," Aymeric repeated. “I do not know how long Venice will be bedridden but I need this delivered quietly to Lord Hien in Doma.

There have been too many strange occurrences that I cannot account for, most involving his people. While I hesitate to make grand assumptions, it would seem some forces are aware of our talks about an upcoming trade arrangement. I would rather not give these unwanted players anything that they can exploit.

You will deliver the message and, per his response, may need to escort one of us. This is to be a private meeting, I would have entrusted it to Venice given their shared history but that hardly seems reasonable now. You are the only other person I trust wholeheartedly.”

"I don't even know his lordship.."

"But he knows the Warrior of Light, that is enough. The letter will explain the rest."

“I didn’t come back here just to run your stupid errands.” Predictable defiance.

“Why _did_ you come back?”

“It wasn’t the original plan,” he conceded. “Venice needed help, sorted that out, should have been the end of it.” A long pause to stare at the floor, “I feel like if I follow her long enough, I’ll find the answers I’ve been looking for.”

“It’s not her job to put us all back together again.”

“Yeah but maybe she’s the only one who can?” A whisper, almost a whimper. Silence. It wasn’t for him to find what was bothering his friend, he knew better than to push against that wall. Either he would lay it out openly or not at all.

“You can’t be too lost if you still know where home is. I’m not going to chase after you. Not any more,” he crossed his arms. The past was best left where it was, undisturbed.

“It’s none of my business what is going on here,” Estinien said, waving his arm in Venice’s direction. The sadness turned into a stare, a blistering warning, ”But don’t let it consume you, you’re both too important to be weakened by fleeting emotions. Might be warm and fuzzy now but it won’t last forever. I couldn’t watch idly by while you fall apart. Either of you.” So much for forgetting the past. He could have pointed out how much stronger they both had become since then but what would that have achieved.

“What really disturbs you is that now you know what it’s like to be part of something, you don’t want to be left alone. While currently your solitude is compelled by your own hand, you can’t handle being pushed out by the whims of others.” He watched as his fellow knight became frustrated by the uncomfortable truth, fidgeting in his armour as he tried to think of a response. He pushed his advantage with gentle affirmation, “What you see as weakness is our greatest strength. You need not worry, my friend. We’ll be here whenever you want to stay, or at least I will be.”

“Give me that damn scroll, I’ll leave for Othard right now,” Estinien had heard enough, he was restless like a caged bird ready to be released. Though he wouldn’t admit his need for affection, to smother him would only make matters worse. And yet, he couldn’t let him leave in that flustered mood. Aymeric reached out to grab him against the wrist, to hold back his departure.

“I’m so fucking confused,” Estinien said in a pained voice, looking over his shoulder. If he wanted to go, he made no effort to do so, instead he allowed himself to be pulled back with his arm firmly twisted behind him. He leaned down to kiss him, sucking hard on his lower lip; Estinien returned the gesture by latching on with rough desperation, dragging it out as long as he could get away with. Breathlessly, “You are _not_ helping.”

Aymeric looked deep into his eyes and saw a chaotic, impenetrable maelstrom swirling around therein. He was truly lost, adrift within his own mind. His cheeks were unusually smooth, recently shaven. He held his chin up with both hands, lightly brushing the backside of one ear as he remembered the sensation of that stubborn, chiseled jawline.

The shorter man looked up at him almost in awe, how long since they had been so close? Duty had torn them apart more often than not.

“Why me and not Ysayle or Haurchefant? They were worth saving.” Darkness threatened to tear him away again.

“The Fury favours the strong,” he said simply, using Estinien’s own words not against him but in an attempt to uplift his state of mind. “You are worthy to _me_ , to Venice, to Alphinaud and I am sure there are many others.”

“Heustienne too, it would seem,” he added to the list. A good sign.

“She’s alive? That’s splendid news.” Estinien was beginning to frown a little less; if that was the best he was going to get, he would take it over him storming out.

“Aymeric..” Estinien pleaded as if he wanted to say more but the words were unwilling to spill forth. No more needed to be said.

He gave him one final kiss on the forehead, not bothering to push aside the messy fringe that had gathered in front of his darkening eyes, gently letting his hands drop from his flushed cheeks as the other man pulled away.

“You are _so_ loved, Estinien. Now do not tarry, Venice is depending on you. And so am I.”

The dragoon nodded, gave a solid salute out of strict habit, then teleported away back to the other side of the world as he had been instructed to do. For his part, he returned to the rickety chair by Venice’s bedside, held her hand between both of his and settled in for another long haul until she was ready to converse once more. None of them were short on thoughts to contemplate about.

\---

“The mechanism is definitely Allagan, ancient but advanced. It kind of reminds me of a jewelry box, given the size and shape. Like it is only supposed to hold onto one particular object. No luck getting it opened?”

The next morning, Venice was bright and alert. She had been handed the recovered box from the theft, was running her hand over the glyphic symbols on its top with her pillows propping her up in a sitting position. It was a suitable distraction from the heaving pain in her chest, the bandages had been freshly changed again in her sleep.

Aymeric had sworn to spend every waking bell by her side until she was feeling more self-sufficient. She had told him not to worry, to focus on running the city, he had said nothing was more important than her.  As her health continued to improve, so did his mood. Another promise kept.

“Not yet. I was hoping you might have some ideas,” he said, glad for a relatively normal conversation.

“Probably best that it stays closed until we know what lies inside. I know someone that could finesse it into opening.”

“Perhaps it should remain with you then. Given the attention it’s already attracted, however..”

“I can still cast spells if push comes to shove. But if there are any more of those assassins, thieves, whoever they are lurking around, they won’t expect it to be laying around here with me. It’s got to be dangerous but until I can take it back to the Scions for their opinion on the matter, this will have to do.”

“What do you think it might be?”

“Well, I’m hoping it’s _not_ a Zodiac Stone, that’s for sure.”

“And that is..?”

“Ah, bit of a long story. Let’s see.. You remember that crazy plan Moenbryda had to send me through Snowcloak using a piece of crystal called auracite as some sort of long-range Aetheryte anchor?

Basically, they can be used as vessels to contain entities, souls. We wanted to trap an Ascian in one to test the theory, to see if we could strip them of their immortality. It worked too, Twelve bless Moenbryda’s ingenuity. But it wasn’t a success we could easily replicate, auracite itself is exceedingly rare and the Blade of Light isn't exactly predictable either.

In the case of the Zodiac Stones, they are a special kind of auracite that already contain a deranged soul, being, demon, whatever you want to call it inside. They behave similarly to primals, enticing their victims with promises to fulfill their deepest desires, to grant them wishes like evil, demented genies in a bottle. They exploit the mortals on the outside to release them into our realm. The covenant they enter into always comes with a steep price.

Not much is known about the Lucavi, as some refer to them, or how they came to be in the stones, probably because every time one is found, it is used to devastating effect. They were supposedly a fictional tale for centuries but I’ve seen one before, seen it resurrect a terrible man from eons ago, supposedly a second resurrection if the true history is to believed.

Don’t get any ideas, these things are bad news and if placed in the wrong hands they make primals almost seem harmless in comparison.”

“Who was the man you saw?”

“Argath Thadalfus, an Ivalician nobleman who despised the common folk so much that he was was willing to sell his own soul to prevent the changes that were elevating them during his time.”

“As in the _legendary_ Kingdom of Ivalice?” He arched an eyebrow. _Clever boy_ , she thought.

“Just so. Another long story, one which I heard and revered in my childhood. The location was prominent in old Garlean fairy tales. The stories were meant to imply that any man could make way to top through merit alone, that old ideas like kings and serfdom would only hold an individual back and create nothing but chaos. An illusionary tale, so that Garleans would be impervious to the invisible system that kept them all in check, allowing them to believe themselves free when they were not.”

“But if this nobleman actually existed then there must have been some truth to the story.”

_I love it when he puts two and two together like that._

“Aye, that’s what we’re still trying to figure out back at the Prima Vista. But I digress, we don’t know there’s a Zodiac Stone in the box.”

“Let us stay optimistic for now. It could be several days before you’re truly recovered. Maybe you can tell me more about these stories you grew up with in the meantime.”

“I’d be happy to share the version that I already know. One of the characters, the Zodiac Braves, was a holy knight named Lady Agrias Oaks, she is one of my childhood heroes that I looked up to long before I became an adventurer. I do hope her part hasn’t changed too much. The idea that she and the rest actually existed..”

"Where did you say you came across this knowledge again?'

"The Royal City of Rabanastre in the Estersands."

"You've _been_ to the capital of Dalmasca?" he gasped with envy. "I thought the Empire had sacked it recently. You get to see the most wondrous places, what I'd give to see the fabled sapphire of the desert for myself."

"Once you've seen one exotic royal capital, you've seen them all really. I'd much rather see the sapphire of the north. Much more handsome," she paused.

He bowed his head in an attempt to hide how brightly he was blushing, brighter than she had ever seen him do. To be compared to the rich culture and history of an ancient city, no doubt one he adored himself from the old tales, was incredibly humbling. She was glad for having finally found the right words to express how much she cared about him, he deserved to know that he was more important to her as the man he was rather than for the various roles he occupied.

"Anyway, as I was saying, Blue, there are twelve Zodiac Stones just as there are Braves just as there are gods, so on and so on. Someone really likes things done in dozens apparently..”

 


End file.
